The Light and beyond
by Sygnya
Summary: A young woman comes to Northrend and enlists to fight for the Alliance, but she is not what she pretends to be. Will she find redemption in the frozen north or will she rather fall under the sway of shadow?
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: World of Warcraft and all the recognizable in-game name and characters belong to Blizzard. However, the main character of this story is entirely my creation. _

_I hope you will enjoy the read and take some time to review this story. (Critical) Feedback is highly appreciated._

_Thank you!_

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It happened in the fifth year of my training.

I had only been allowed home for the end of the week, to visit my family – rules for those aspiring to join the Silver Hand were quite harsh. Lessons and practice would stretch from morning till nightfall and I would usually sleep without dreams due to exhaustion.

The priest was dressed in white as he met me on the stairs of the house. I remember his face, good and warm, despite lines of age and worry. Maybe he had a feeling of what would come.

"I regret to tell it so…abruptly…but your father had passed away last night…"

It was impossible. Father had always been the healthiest of men. Despite working hard at the forge, sometimes out in the rain, he had not fallen ill once in his entire life. The door had remained open behind the priest and I could hear heart tearing cries from the inside. I recognized my mother and sister as they wailed, sobs mixed with incoherent words.

"May the Light have mercy of his soul and forever keep him in its glory", I answered instinctively. I had had a long practice day with the sword, but only then did I truly become aware of the weariness in my limbs.

"There's an epidemic in the city", the priest continued quietly. "I cannot spend anymore time here…other people are maybe dying as we speak." He placed a hand on my shoulder, in a reassuring way. "I trust you to give them some strength …Your father was a good man. I have no doubt he is happy now."

I had heard about the epidemic, but I did not imagine for a second it was so bad. Or that it could touch me…or my family for that matter.

I couldn't cry. The shock had been too great but faith steeled me. Whatever came had to be accepted in the name of Light, as just a test to measure if we were worthy of its blessings. My father had always thought so and I was not going to disappoint him. It took me some time though to calm my mother and sister, before we could sit down and think about more practical matters, such as the burial service.

I think they hated me then, because I was cool headed and able to accept what they could not. My father look odd laying on the bed, his expression contorted as if he had been in great pain to the end. I prayed that he was at peace, for whatever comes to our body must never touch our soul. The illness had started unexpectedly, mother told me…just the day before, after they had dinner.  
None of them spoke of it, but I knew they were torn inside between grief and the worry that they might have caught the disease too…Haggard faces and red rimmed eyes followed me as I said the ritual prayers. They brought comfort to me, though I doubt to Mother and Lyssa as well. But they listened to me, and we set to the long night's watch over the dead.

Then, sometime after dark, the bells started to toll. I cannot write the horror of what followed. The city burned that night, yet before the flames swallowed the place of damnation it had become, many souls had been lost to the shadow. I had not seen all of it and though some details are vivid in my mind, most of it comes from stories I've shared with other people who had witnessed the culling of Stratholme.

First rose the rumor that something bad was happening. People ran this way and the other, carrying bundles and crying children. Screams started to shatter the midnight silence – one or two at first, then more, rising from almost every house on our street. The city was under attack – by the very army sworn to protect it - no, there where hideous, powerful creatures rampaging the streets - no, the dead themselves had risen from their graves to judge the living…

While this seemed the most impossible explanation of all, I felt a stab of uneasiness through my heart. I knew I was not strong enough to protect my mother and sister, yet I fingered the hilt of my sword hard as I paced in the living room watching the blaze grow over rooftops, to the east and north… They where so shattered by my father's death I doubted they could even think at that moment, and despite my being the youngest, the responsibility pressed on my shoulders as if it were wholly mine.

I was just pondering the idea of telling them to run – since the fires seemed to be moving closer and closer, somehow encircling our neighborhood, when suddenly I heard my mother scream. It was an awful sound, much worse than all the wailing she'd done before. A cry as if her chest was split open and her heart tore out while still beating. Me and my sister rushed into the bedroom where Father lay – to find him on his feet, a hand clenched around Mother's throat, squeezing it hard.

We both cried as one, dashing forward to stop him. I cannot describe in words how it felt - he was dead, we knew he was dead, and yet he stood there, slowly killing our mother…his wife... We flung ourselves at him, trying to pry his fingers open, but somehow it was as if attempted to move a wall. His skin was cadaverous and felt cold to the touch – and there was an awful fixity in his eyes – cold, dead eyes that gazed at us without blinking, without seeing. I have many times since faced Scourge – looked into decomposing faces and blank malevolent eyes, but never after did I feel so much horror as with my father.

He broke mother's neck as she was still gasping for air and let her fell – only to grab my sister's arm and tear it from its socket. She screeched horribly as blood burst in a fountain, uselessly flailing with the remaining hand. I tried to reach her and I couldn't. The world swayed around me. Lyssa screamed at me to run and she did so until her voice broke off…until, despite my futile attempts the…thing in my father's body put her down and ripped open her throat.

"Hunger", he growled. It was not his voice; nothing in that monster …reminded me of my good and righteous father. I remember clearly he started to tear Lyssa's flesh off her bones, using his fingers like claws. Her screams still filled my ears, although they had ceased moments before. I can't remember where that strength came from – maybe I prayed in my heart and the Light heard my desperate call…I took out the sword and drew it through his ribcage, as hard as my arms could push it. A gurgling sound answered…and he collapsed. Mother and Lyssa were already dead by that time. I couldn't stand it anymore. I ran. I remember dashing out madly and running, without looking back, without pausing to draw my breath. I remember Stratholme burning and dead lying everywhere…some drowning in pools of their own blood, others like my father. I do not recall much afterwards.


	2. A not so smooth landing

The wind howled furiously, racing against the jagged stone walls that closed on the ship from two sides. A small craft, it lurched heavily as it rode the waves to make its way into Daggercap Bay.

Sev stood in the stern, holding onto the railing with a white-knuckled grip. Her stomach tried to turn on itself each time the ship swung, hurled up and down like weightless flotsam. After five weeks and two days spent on water - a nutshell at the mercy of the endless expanse of the ocean, the sight of solid ground was welcome.

Above their heads, large wooden buildings hang on top of the cliffs at almost impossible angles. Looking made Sev even queasier, but she kept staring up. It was better than seeing the jagged corners of stone jutting out of the water here and there in the narrow fijord, sometimes so close collision seemed inevitable. The bay widened abruptly into a rounded gulf and the ship took a sharp turn left, balancing precariously under the wind.

The sudden movement threw Sev forward, her ribs cracking painfully as they made contact with the stout wooden rail. She stepped back grunting, only to be jerked the other way when the boat redressed – crawling incredibly slow along the shore.

Men jumped overboard in chest-high water in a blink of the eye, starting to tie ropes to stout poles with practiced efficiency. The ship lurched and trembled, then quietly settled against the dock, gently swaying with the rolling waves.

During the first moments after landing it was impossible to make anything out in the general yammering. People shouted and crammed towards the dock in a dense stream, each and everyone carrying weapons and bundles and elbowing their way past the others. Sev held back at first, unwilling to mix into that crowd, yet eventually she was pushed towards it by other people making their way onto the deck.

"Move on, move one, don't stand in the way! There's room fo' everybody, just keep goin'!"

A grizzled soldier standing on the dock seemed to be somehow directing the flow of passengers, his voice raising over the rumor. Sev found herself crossing the dock onto a large expanse of trampled grass that seemed to be the bottom of a bowl. She looked around, curiously. Valgarde was not a port, not even a city proper. A wall rounded on three sides, clinging to stony slope, defense towers topping it here and there. Houses and towers had an oddly familiar look to Sev's eyes, and all formed a loose formation that encircled a massive squared hall.

A bell tolled – a high pitched sound that filled the air, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Shouting ensued as large winged forms darkened the sky and a shower of arrows and flame came down on their heads. For a second Sev gaped in astonishment. Then instincts kicked in and she plunged to take cover, landing on ther belly near a pile of crates.

She rolled on her back immediately, just in time to see massive shapes breaking into the fortress' enclosure from the north. Guttural battle cries rose and were met with cries of "For Lordaeron! For the Alliance!" from Valgarde defenders. Soldiers poured out of barracks and tents, some in armor, some not, others only half dressed, yet none hesitated to charge at the incoming enemy.

She did not understand what was going on – but she was a soldier too and she had fought many times before on orders she did not understand. Drawing her own sword, she ran towards the breech in the wall - and almost bumped into one of the attackers. He stood more than twice her height, with muscles as thick as tree roots, swinging a bloodied axe in one hand. Sev met the blow, but the force of it threw her down like a rag doll. Ribs already bruised from the ship's rail protested when she tried to get up. All she could do was roll sideways to avoid another mighty swing of the axe.

"Light, give me strength", she whispered. It was a simple matter of focus and the warmth filled her, spread inside like a growing fire. The pain in her chest felt dim, at the edges of her awareness as she rose to her feet and she called out loud for the Light's blessing, her blade whirling in a sparkling circle… engage, parry, side blow, parry…

Her attacker fell, hot blood spraying out of gaping wound in his middle, to land on her hands, on her face, in her hair. A part of Sev's mind before had she fought something…alive. Except for that one time when…She couldn't make herself remember and there was no point in it either. She let thoughts drain away in the rapture of Light that suffused her as she moved to the next invader, the sword in her hands a being of its own, twisting and glimmering faintly. Another one. And another.

Suddenly she became aware of the silence.

Corpses dotted the grass all around, most of them belonging to the attacking giants, some to Valgarde defenders. The hand Sev rose to mop the sweat from her brow came back red, despite the fact she did not have any wounds – or at least none she could feel right then. Slowly, reluctantly, she let go of the Light and looked around for something to wipe her blade on, before re-sheathing it.

"Good job the'e", a rugged voice said behind and she turned startled to see a bearded dwarf, wearing the insignia of an Alliance officer. "Much better than the green scrubs Fordring's been sendin'" He gave her an appraising look, then shrugged. "Ya did not seem strong enough tho' to carry that sword…" Another long weighting glance. "Never mind…There be work to be done he'e lass…much work. I'll show you to the commander. What, have you lost your tongue, girl?"

"N- no", Sev stammered. She flushed, still looking around in awe. A hard land and hard people these, stranded for years on the very edges of the known world. Everyone seemed to be returning to their normal business, as if the attack had only been a minor annoyance.

Most of the recruits stood on the dock, huddled together, watching the surroundings with wary eyes, except for one or two who, like herself, had dashed to take part in the fight. A grizzled man, with dark eyes and a long scar across his left cheek flashed her a grin and winked as he sheathed a pair of twin ornate daggers. Sev dropped her gaze to the ground and scrubbed some more blood off her forehead.

"Come on, lass… I don't have all day to lose!", the dwarf prodded her. "'tis way".

"Yes sir!" A meek smile touched Severinna's lips. The dwarf rose a questioning eyebrow at her, but she only nodded and hurried to follow. Let him believe what he would, the young woman thought.


	3. Reflections

I am a recruit, again.

I have expected snow and blizzards, but at this time of the year the southern parts of Northrend are covered in green. The air is cool, and the sun does not burn as heavily as elsewhere, but there are pickets of evergreens and oaks, fields of oats and maize as far as the eye can see. Farms are tightly packed together around Valgarde, so that their people can run to the safety of the walls should the need arise.

These are hard people, used to hold both the sickle and the sword, soldiers turned into farmers and into soldiers again. They do not complain about their fate, but cherish the memory of "home"… forested hills rolling under the deep blue sky of Tirisfal…the golden plains of Andorhal… the glorious cathedrals of Stratholme shining into the sun…

I cannot tell them what our land has become.

After five weeks of lurching on a boat in the immensity of the frozen sea, this expanse of solid ground managed to lift my spirits. I have been swiftly assigned to a recruits unit and given a tiny place in the barracks. I did not intend to remain for too long here, but I have nowhere else to go, no other allegiance. It's hard to keep the emptiness I feel at bay for too long.

Valgarde came under attack soon after our ship had docked. The enemies have been repelled, but they might come yet again. A race of brutish giants – vrykul, as they call themselves – they have appeared seemingly out of nowhere some month ago. During their last foray, a week before, they took a number of prisoners – soldiers as well as civilians. Vice admiral Keller, who runs this operation, has sent scouts to investigate the situation and rescue the captives. However, most of them had been captured by the vrykul and given to a terrible fate – impaled and left do to die slowly, in terrible pain, in sight of Valgarde's walls. My unit has been tasked with recovering the bodies and rescuing any survivors there may be. It's a grim mission and people are muttering that they are risking their own lives for nothing.

I remember tree branches bent under their weight. I remember ropes and crows. I shut my eyes tight over those memories – they come back to me as through a haze and I deep inside I wonder why I had never noticed before…  
I remember terror. I remember how strong it can be, even when you tread in the ways of Light…

Our enemies shouldn't be allowed this…No, I will do what it takes.

I spent the whole evening polishing my armor. The breastplate is worn and dented, the symbols of Hope barely visible now, but still gives off sparks when catching the sunlight. I have been offered a new one, from the scarce supply of spare military equipment Valgarde has. However, I cannot make myself give up the familiar things that seem to have their own life under my fingers as I go through the evening ritual. The other men watch me warily – one or two, grizzled soldiers, nodded in understanding. There is no need to do it every day. I could slacken discipline, throw my things in a pile under the bed and no one would complain. Valgarde garrison doesn't seem to have a lot of rules.

Yet it comforts me to respect even small parts of the old routine. They are the only think solid in a world that had changed beyond my imagination.

_  
~ Light, I humbly offer you my prayers that you take me into your care and make me see the purpose you placed in my life. Guide me forever in your sight and do not let my steps falter, nor the strength of my arm fail in my faithful service to you._


	4. The shining Light

It hurts.

The pain seems to be nestled deep inside my spine and radiates outwards with every breath I take. I fight to open my eyes, but it feels too daunting an effort. The darkness streaked with golden behind my closed lids is comforting and so are the hands gently stroking my hair.

"Put her there, on the blankets. Hurry, hurry…!"

The voice sounds worried. I'm too tired to care.

"The sword…" someone else says. "We have recovered it, milord! We…"

"To hell with the sword!" It's another voice, deep and rumbling. A part of me recognizes it, even if it's been a very long time since I heard it last. It's nothing rational. I just _know_, in the distant way you sometimes recall the dimmest memories of childhood. "So many good men have died to redeem this blade. I should have been the one to carry it. It was my responsibility! Mine!"

Light, it hurts.

"She'll be fine". This voice is soft and a bit slurring. I feel a tingle –it's like an electrical current crossing my body and I arch, my muscles contracting painfully.

Memory swirls in tight circles. I float.

_The catacombs under Utgarde are huge and unexpectedly dry. It smells like damp stone, but there is no trickling of water. Our party has come to that place while tracing the missing dwarven expedition – what remains of it anyway, we have already found two mangled bodies back in the Vrykul village. _

"_Maybe we should just go back?" one of my companions offers in a tight voice. _

_The dwarves, Noro and Nara are brother and sister – and quite unexperienced, both of them, despite the fact they're armed through their teeth. Kelen is the man I met on my first day here. He talks a lot and mostly nonsense, yet I suspect it's just a mask he's too used to wearing. He has the air of a shady dealer – I've encountered his likes before.  
Aelynos has been a student of magic in Stormwind – the two of them have met on the boat and befriended each other, though I have never seen men more different. Finally, Maeglin. He sailed all the way from Kalimdor and it's hard to guess why did he choose to enroll in this fight. His race usually keep away from mortal struggles. Maybe they had their own taste of the Scourge and found it unpleasant. I wonder whether they have tried to acknowledge my motivations as well…_

_Somewhow they settled to let me lead. I have a little more experience than them in matters of war, but I feel uncomfortable ordering people around. At least I hope not to get them into trouble. Not more than we are all in already, at any rate._

"_I heard something", Kelen says. He is virtually on his toes, peering along a side corridor. Echoes answer, no matter how quietly he has spoken. _

"_It's nothing", Aelynos whispers hopefully. Kelen watches me interrogatively, and so does Maeglin, even though he has to cock his head to one side to look at my face – he towers over me head and shoulders and more. Aelynos swallows hard and the dwarves look uncomfortable as I nod._

_Our steps seem thunders as we cross the hall and start down the corridor. I push them hard, a moment of hesitation and Aelynos is going to break down on me, Nara maybe as well. Kelen looks wary, but nothing more. Maeglin is impenetrable._

_It is too quiet. After having to fight our way to the catacombs, this silence weights on my mind like a heavy stone._

_Kelen touches my arm, gently, so as not to scare me. I start anyway, breath catching in my throat. The corridor is a dead end. Tall niches, decorated with wood carvings surround a slab of stone which closely resembles an altar. A man lays on it, eagle spread. His arms and legs have been bound to the stone with metal chains, which now hang loose along the sides. He is obviously in no condition to run anywhere._

_It has the odd air of a pagan sacrifice, something I would rather expect to see in the murky depths inhabited by the Cult of the Damned. Wounds slah the man's body, most of them covered in grime and blood, some definitely infected. He lives still, yet his breath is shallow and pained._

_Four sets of eyes fix me with hope._

_My skill with the Light is not so strong. I cannot heal him. Not such wounds._

"_I'll try", Maeglin suddenly says. Now we all look at him, as he moves towards the stone altar and places a gentle hand on the young man's chest. His face remains unreadable as he closes his eyes, in concentration. A green, warm light springs under his fingers, expands to wrap the man's body like a cocoon. He opens his eyes, suddenly, and gasps for air._

"_It is beyond my skill" Maeglin whispers. The light fades, the man gasps once more._

"_The Light…The artifact…Barely wrested it from the forces of Naxxramas. So many perished…in the wake of its redemption…" His voice is low, barely a ragged whisper. His gaze takes us all in, unseeing. "There is still a chance... still time. It was hurled into the den of the fallen, far below us... Guarded by the unmerciful dead…" A shudder runs through his body and he fights for breath. "Please, you must…recover it..."_

_He slumps back onto the stone, unmoving. For a moment it is silence. We watch each other – then suddenly Kelen breaks from us and starts towards the fork in the corridor. _

_Noro runs after him, and his sister follows. He wants to inspect the terrain and we can do nothing else but wait. I will not risk all our lives on a dying man's words. I will…not…_

_Maeglin avoids looking at me. He leans against the wall, closing his eyes, wrapping himself in silence like a protective shell. Aelynos hugs himself, taking in short, gulping breaths. His teeth chatter, but he remains quiet. The place is unnerving, I can feel it too. But I have seen worse in my life. Far worse than this._

"_It's terrible."_

_Kelen's voice has me starting again, my sword at the ready. He steps as light as a cat, on padded feet._

"_Undead", he breathed. "Undead as far as I could see, in the catacombs below us. There's no way to cut a path through them…we would be torn into pieces in seconds."_

"_Please", the man on the stone slab whispers. He looks on the very brink of death, eyes sunken, his skin gray where it is not covered in blood. A weak hand claws the air almost desperately – and latches onto mine with unexpected strength._

"_Please…You must not…allow it…to fall…to the Scourge…Not…again…" _

_Those cold fingers try to pry their way to my bones. I grip his hand back, in a vain attempt to comfort. "Don't be afraid." He must be suffering a lot, but somehow his face is…serene. "Light. Will. Protect. You."_

Mind numbing pain fills the darkness beyond my eyelids in crimson red. My body reacts to it, writhing in agony, but I drift where it cannot touch me.

"She will recover", the slurring voice says again as a dripping wet cloth is gently placed on my forehead. "She is greatly weakened though".  
Someone is holding me. I struggle to open my eyes and see...

_Kelen's almost desperate protests die somewhere back as I climb down the stairs and into the swarm of undead. It is a sight of nightmare – an endless hall filled with horrible, broken bodies raggedly moving…Their evil seeps into the ground, into the air. I can barely breathe.  
- "Light, I humbly pray you so to guide and govern me…"_

_My steps echo hollowly on the paving stones. Soon there will be no return. Fear grips at my throat with a thousand frozen fingers. This is madness.  
- "…that I may never forget you, in the darkest moments of my life…"_

_"Sev, come back! Sev!"_

_I start running.  
- "so I may remember that I am ever walking in your sight…"  
_

_The undead stir, aware of my presence. The hall is endless, and all I can see is rotting flesh , hollow eye sockets… and panic wants to take over. No, I will have faith!_

_Light springs around me, shielding my body as I charge into the mass of undead. Awful growls burst from all sides – and a sound of something sizzling and burning away. My senses dim in the rapture of Light but my steps do not falter. I can see it now. It's a sword, lying in ankle deep water. It sparkles. It glows with the Light as my hands do. I run towards it, splashing and panting. My fingers close in its hilt – it feels heavy when I lift it. Merciless claws tear at the air – tear at me, but they fail to touch even the plate I wear. The undead growl and writhe, their numbers seemingly infinite as they throw themselves at me, feeling their pray might escape._

_Light fills me, drowns all sound, all thought. It fills me and courses through the blade, an endless flow, like lightning striking into the undead. They burn. It burns. I hear my voice, coming from far off, beyond consciousness. I think I scream as I climb the stairs, fratically staggering into Kelen's arms…  
It hurts…  
_

I open my eyes to the sun-streaked ceiling of a tent. I lay on my back, a warm blanket covering me to the neck. My body feels light, as if I could fly any moment now.  
_"Fight with honor. Always. Honor."_

Maeglin smiles down at me. There is some expression in his unreadable elven features.

_"Blessed are those that are pure and walk in the way of Light."_

I smile back.

* * *

A/N: This chapter is loosely based on a quest chain in Howling Fijord, in which your character has to recover a "holy artifact" - which proves to be the Ashbringer - from the bottom of Utgarde Catacombs and bring it back to the Argent Crusade. I enjoyed very much that story and I thought it fits Sev's story as well...

The formatting is quite odd, but I tried to separate the 3 different plans: present in which she is brought back to camp - memory showing what happened in the catacoms - her thoughts _during _those events. I don't know how good I've managed it though.

I hope you will enjoy reading & will take a moment to review if you liked it ;)


	5. And let me not be blind

"Child."

I start and stop ashamed, halfway towards gripping my sword, which lays within reach. It's a reflex that says a lot of me lately.  
My things are on the bed in an orderly pile, ready to be stuffed into the saddlebags. Not much really, just three spare shirts, leggings and a clean coat. A couple of books and a small pouch with ointments and bandages.

The man leaning against the door frame wears the plain clothing of a cleric, yet something in his posture speaks otherwise, of someone used to carrying weapons. He frowns, and I feel as if his blue eyes weight me thoroughly, plucking every last fiber of my soul for careful inspection.

"I see you are preparing to leave."

"I have to…" I finally dare to meet his eyes and memory stings sharply, to the very core of my being.

"You have made friends here. They are going north, towards Westwind Garrison. Vrykul attacks are worse in that area…"

"I cannot…" I wish I could bring myself to form full sentences. But it takes all my strength of will just to hold his gaze. Friends. We are alone and we die alone and the fight against the Scourge is all we have. I don't want it to be like this, not really.

"You'll be heading into Dragonblight, I suppose…"

I nod, reluctantly. It's all I can do not to flinch under his intense scrutiny. He shakes his head in dismay.

"Haven't you had enough of that madness? You've shown courage and great strength in the Light…why waste it so?"

Suddenly I find myself gaping – how could he know for sure? – then my fingers find instinctively that spot above my heart where I have been marked.

"At least you would not object at doing me a favor, child. I have messages that need to be delivered in Valiance Keep as soon as possible. I planned to send a courier, but you'll do just fine. There's a small settlement of natives, the Tuskarr to the east of the fjord…We have established good terms with them so you will be able to secure passage to another one of their ports, along the coast of Dragonblight, and from there to Borean Tundra."

I have only met this man twice before, and he certainly does not know it….just another face in the crowd… But I remember wanting to be like him, a hero out of legend, even more so than Lord Uther the Lightbringer who to this day is revered as a saint. I know many other things about him…and he doesn't know this either. Those blue eyes, so much like his son's, are still measuring me… and then something snaps inside of me and unexpectedly I find myself fighting anguished sobs.

"Taelan was my friend". It is not a lie. He was maybe the only friend I have ever had. And the same as me, all he wanted was to be like his father – even if he had grown up in his absence, believing him dead, as some many others did.

I blink back tears, recalling all those evenings me and Taelan have spent together walking along the walls of Mardenholde Keep.  
Now he has understood too, but he does not ask for answers. Suddenly he's holding me tightly and stroking my hair. I don't know how he could have moved so fast and I cannot see his expression, but he shivers badly, almost as much as I do.  
His son's death is a wound that would never heal in this man's soul. I can only guess he holds himself responsible for it…yet he had somehow found the strength to go on when honor was everything that was left to him. I will too. I must. I will not fail.

"Go", he says after a while. "Go to New Hearthglen if you have to, child. I will pray for you to see the truth before it is too late."

I know the truth, deep in my heart. Taelan did too. But I cannot prevent myself from going back, like a butterfly driven inexorably towards the flame. I am too afraid to accept change…and the fact that I am aware of it scares me even worse.

He lifts my chin so that he can look into my eyes and my knees melt…It's different from Taelan's gaze, and it does not give me those strange butterflies in the stomach – yet it holds the same shattering intensity.

"Just remember one thing. No one can take the Light away from you."

And with that he leaves me, with a stack of letters I am supposed to carry over to Valiance Keep – and a small pouch, filled with coins. I believe he considers me smart enough to find the way to Borean Tundra on my own, provided the means I sit on the bed, still shaken and tears flow down my cheeks, maybe for the first time since my only friend died. I could watch Havenshire burn without weeping, but now I cannot stop. Something tickles at the back of my mind – a memory of words spoken times before by people who have died in their name.

Esarus thar no Darador. By blood and honor we serve.

"I know, Lord Fordring", I whisper to the closed door, the empty walls of the room.  
I look at my hands – they have held the Ashbringer and the Light did not strike me down for daring to call upon its powers. Well, not really. I am not strong enough to wield it and even the Light can burn one unworthy to act as vessel for such great a force.

Through tears, I cannot stop wondering whether my prayers have been finally answered. Maybe - just maybe - this is the sign I have been hoping for...

I start packing again.

* * *

_Finally an update, even if pretty short. More is coming soon and any reviews will only make me write faster :)_


	6. The long journey: Fool's errand first

_Valiance Keep, the 14 day of the fourth month since the burning of Havenshire  
_

"Can I bother you for a second?"

Whirling around, Severinna took the black haired woman in one long gaze. She held a tray with a steaming bowl of stew, loaves of fresh bread and a mug of ale and gestured towards a nearby table. The smell of food reminded her how hungry she was – after delivering the letters to the commander of the keep. She had been heading towards the soldier quarters where she had been assigned a place for the night, when a man outside the inn had asked her to enter for a second and speak to a woman who was waiting for her.  
"You wanted to see me?"

The woman measured her from head to feet, then sighed. She wasn't really that young, Severinna thought, maybe thirty or even more, so close, lines were visible in her face, lines of worry and sadness.

"Yes, please excuse me. It will only take a moment, but I have brought you some lunch." The woman gestured again with the tray. "You must be hungry, you have come a long way."

Still wary, Sev acknowledged her words and the woman led her towards the table and set the tray down in front of her, then let herself fall on one of the chairs. The common room was almost empty – another hour or two till midday. She could barely refrain herself from devouring the stew. The Tuskarr were a nice people and she herself not picky on her food, but traveling with them for two whole weeks made anything not fish very appetizing.

"I will be brief", the woman said. "I have asked other people for help until now, but everyone just turned me down. I heard you came from the west and I thought you might be willing to aid me. If you don't, I will not bother you further. But please, listen to my story…"

The grief in the woman's voice made Sev frown. She paused with the spoon mid air and tried to look encouraging. Light, she felt so tired. All she truly wanted was lay down and sleep. For a couple of days.

"My name is Leryssa. I don't have any family left, only a brother, Thassarian. A couple of years ago he enrolled to fight in the Plaguelands, against the Scourge. I have not heard anything from him since…only a letter received from an Argent Dawn officer, telling me he had been missing in action…presumably dead."

"I'm sorry", Sev said quietly. She put down the spoon and crossed her hands over the tabletop, watching her.

"Well…" The woman smiled bitterly. "Then, some two months ago, a friend of mine, William Allerton, has send word that my brother has enlisted here, in Valiance Keep, on the same day he did. I sold everything I had and came as fast as I could. He's my only relative, you see…The only one I still have in the world…If there might be a chance he's still alive… But nobody would talk to me about it. I have requested countless audiences with the military commanders of this place…to tell me at least where they have sent him…and all in vain…! William's stationed outside of the keep, in a place called Farshire, and I cannot reach him" She shrugged. " I suppose my petitions never reached them…the bureaucracy here is horrible. You have arrived today and have been received to the commander. Maybe you could help me…I just want to find out where my brother is. I would go myself in his search, but I am only a civilian and kept out of most of the base…"

Sev averted her eyes, as the woman started to shake with silent sobs. _It is Light's will to serve as shield and sword for those in need, for those that cannot defend themselves. This is the true meaning of compassion and righteousness – to serve the Light in those that most need its help.__  
_  
"I'll try", she offered. "I don't know of how much use I can be…I'm a stranger here myself…but I'll do whatever I can."

"Thank you." Tears finally started running down Leryssa's cheeks, but she smiled as she wept. " I doubt I will ever be able to repay you…but all I have is yours…"

"I don't want your money". Sev shook her head, irritated at the thought. "Lunch will be more than fair pay." She smiled back at the woman, picking up her spoon, to prove her words. It will not mean too much a delay after all, just doing a few enquiries here and there. Leryssa was right, being at least able to pretend she was one of the military might open her some doors. She would find out what she could, then be on her way to Dragonblight. Her fingers grazed instinctively over the chest plate, touching the place where the small mark rested, the blood red "L", and she bit her lips thoughtfully at the echo in her mind.

_Nobody can take the Light from you._

* * *

Three days later I am still around Valiance Keep trying to honor the promise I've made to Leryssa. Every time I seem to untangle one of the threads leading to her brother, I end up even further from the truth than before.  
I set out to find William Allerton. Farshire is a settlement on the shores of the ocean, not far from Valiance Keep. It was a peaceful village, inhabited by farmers, until a couple of weeks before, since undead started spreading all over the place. Most of the inhabitants have fled to the keep. The few that remain live under constant siege, having to fight back the rotting dead from their very door step.  
Their simple courage impressed me. I found here, on the other edge of Northrend, the same determination as back in Valgarde. These people have left the old world to make a living here in the harsh north. They know their support is important for the armed offensive and now, that they have a foothold on this land, they don't intend to leave so easily.

William Allerton has been stationed here with a contingent of Alliance troops, guarding the Farshire mine - a vital resource. But the mine had been overcome with undead and no one was able to check whether any of the soldiers are still alive. They are peasants after all and already do more than is expected of them. I sighed and headed towards the mine – after all these years, no amount of Scourge scares me so easily.

I didn't hope to find survivors and there weren't any. Some of the dead soldiers had already been turned – and these, the Light willing, I was able to dispatch - others lay decomposing in the damp tunnels. I had brought torches and burned as many bodies as I could, as I made my way towards the end of the mine, coughing from all the acrid smoke. William Allerton was the last corpse I found. He had defended himself bravely, but had been eventually overrun by the undead. I searched his possessions thoroughly, yet all I found was an enlistment card. I took it anyway, said a prayer for the fallen and returned to Farshire, to break the news.

As expected, Leryssa was rather shocked by my discovery. However, she took it quite well and produced an army recruitment ledger I did not dare ask how she had come by. We searched the ledger – assuming that her brother and the late William Allerton had been close to each other in the enlistment line – and eventually found his name. He had been assigned to unit "S", but that didn't tell us much, not with all the other recruit units named after the town of origin. There was for example the Southshore corps and the Westfall Militia deployed far north in the Grizzly Hills, but none of us could figure what "S" stood for.

Leryssa, however, is a resourceful woman. Back in Stormwind, she ran an inn, so she knows whom and when and how to ask…The innkeeper here sent us to an old veteran, now retired, who spends his day around the keep. The man has served in the army all his life and what he does not know about Valiance Keep operations may be fit in a tea spoon.

We had to turn the base upside down though, to produce a bottle of rare Kul Tiras wine, which was the only think that would convince old man Colburn to share his "wisdom" with us.

I would find all this detective work amusing, and even relaxing, if it didn't deter me from reaching my destination. Yet I have promised, and that is why the third day found me in the basements of the keep, where the prison cells are. Leryssa bribed the guards to let me pass – a necessary annoyance. I disagree with this kind of means, but even I must admit it greatly sped up the process.  
The man I am looking for is a deserter – someone who has been assigned to the same unit as Thassarian, Leryssa's brother. It doesn't take much for him to spill out his story, nothing fancy in truth. He says the mission Thassarian has been put in charge of was pure suicide, and that him and the rest of the unit have gone west, to launch an attack on the Scourge forces in the area.

After three more or less fruitful days, at least this information is something to begin with. The deserter cackles when I thank him for the news. He truly believes mine is a "fool's errand." I let him meditate some more on his choices as I head to Leryssa and share what I have just found out. Going west suits me just fine, since I'll be closer to Dragonblight. I will send her news if I will succeed in finding at least a trace of her brother.

There's something about this story that bothers me, like a small thorn nestled in the back of my head. I can't tell why. I just feel it, as I leave Valiance Keep, heading into the seemingly endless expanse of rugged grass and malformed trees that is Borean Tundra. The harsh winds of the frozen sea have swept over the land, molding it to an uneventful rocky plain.  
Flocks of some huge animals I remember seeing once at a Darkmoon Faire wander around, feeding on the scarce fodder and tundra birds fill the air with their chirping.

The wind slashes coldly against my cheeks as I ride and attempts to untie my hair. Loose strands whip around my forehead – I have already given up trying to keep up the hooded cloak. It is somewhat exhilarating and I find myself laughing out loud.

My destination is the tuskarr settlement of Kaskala. From there, I hope to secure passage to wherever the "S" unit has been sent. Another couple of days at most, and I will be on my way. It is odd to think the wandering may come to an end – that I might just find "home" again.

I don't believe it. My mind cannot grasp yet the horrible amount of truth that is creeping up on its edges – but it has become more and more difficult to ignore it either. Back there, in Hearthglen, daily routine swallowed any attempts at thinking too much. There would be the morning prayers, the sword exercises, the patrols, the evening prayers and sometimes even the midnight prayers. And the penance, of course. No one was as pure as they should, so spiritual atonement was requested, and ever so often physical mortification as well.  
But now, looking back, I see the unnecessary amount of blood spilled. Innocents dead, people tortured to confess they worked for the Scourge. People tortured to prove they were not Scourge. Inquisitor Isilien's precepts. High General Abbendis' revelations…her belief the Light was talking to her. The preparations to sail north with a handful of followers – her chosen ones. Few of us knew the whole truth until the end.

I shiver and it is not only the wind. Laughter dies. Suddenly I feel lonely, in this quiet immensity of land...

* * *

The day is not over yet as I arrive in the tuskarr settlement of Unu'pe. It's a fisherman village, with nets and fishing poles everywhere and a couple of children running among them. The tuskarr are strange but friendly beings, and their accent is the funniest I've ever heard. Their elder, Ataika, is swift to point me in the desired direction. Unit "S" is camped just over the hill, in a place they named "Death's Stand", and the man I'm looking for is definitely there.

"Be wary", the elder warns me, shaking his head. "He bore the mark of Karkut... he who watches over the dead."  
Great, I think, unable not to notice the pleasant amount of references to death that surround me. I thank Ataika and start in the direction he had indicated, leading my horse by the reins – the coast is too steep and covered in snow to be able to ride.  
I wish I didn't have this eerie yet clear idea that something is wrong…


	7. The long journey: Never think never

_Finally managed to put this together, so as to finish the questing adventures line... I hope you can bear with me through this chapter; I have tried to focus more on Sev's thoughts and the changes going inside her, and less on the quest details. More interesting stuff should be coming soon. So, here it goes...  
_

* * *

I wake up trembling. Cold seems to have permeated me to the bone and my teeth chatter uncontrollably as I stretch, trying to set the blood in my veins into motion again.

_"Thud. Thud."_

I have never been more aware of the rhythm in which my heart beats.

_"Thud."_

Slanting rays of light dot the stone floor on which I have slept. It couldn't have been more than a couple hours and it has been hardly resting at all, but I have been so exhausted I was not able to hold my eyes open. I look around, still dazed as I scramble upright.

"Ready for business?" The voice sends chills down my spine. It has an odd, metallic sound to it, a deep note and a shrill overlapping tone. Blue orbs fix me impassible in an expressionless face. It is freezing in here, fresh snow piling outside the ziggurat, but this presence would feel the same under a glorious summer sun.

I wonder how I was able to sleep even the little I did, knowing him so close…My back aches and so does my head. The space around is mostly empty, a stone hall filled with strange looking devices. A magical force field encircles a corner of the room and the skeletal, floating form of an undead being. A lich. Out of all Scourge, there is nothing more cunning, more ruthless than a lich – hard to imagine a being of such power trapped.

My stomach churns at the sight. I keep telling myself it has nothing to do with the ghoul intently studying me from across the hall. His master does not pay more attention to it than to a harmless pet. The stench of rot wafts heavily in the air.

_Light, what am I doing here?_ As I try to stand, nausea suddenly reminds me I haven't eaten anything for more than a day but had been doing a lot of other things meanwhile. Like recovering a phylactery from the bottom of a fucking freezing lake and fending off abominations around the ziggurat for bloody long hours. I bite my tongue at the language, but it is all in my head. No need for penance here. Not anymore.

My stomach growls loudly and the man standing at ease laughs. It sounds even worse than his voice. Try as I might, I cannot repress a shudder.

I'm not going to bite you" he says calmly, "so stop looking at me like that. We have work to do still, and you agreed to help."

The reminder is welcome. I was just asking my self again why.

"Do you have anything to eat? "he continues levelly. "You certainly seem to need it."

I wrinkle my nose at the question. I have bought some food in the tuskarr village. Obviously, fish.

"I do", I nod curtly. It's hard to reconcile my mixed feelings into one coherent attitude. Oh yes, I have found Leryssa's brother, Thassarian…

I should be trying to stab him through the heart right now. I hate all he embodies – a tool of the Scourge, a soul that willingly gave himself to the evil of the Lich King. He'd make short work of me though. A death knight is the most formidable opponent one could conceive.

I have heard about these _redeemed_ death kinghts joining the fight against the Scourge. Yet, how real is their motivation? Can they be trusted? And how far?

_When in doubt, kill them all_¸ the High Inquisitor Isilien used to say. _Better to perish an innocent than to let the evil of the Scourge spread._

Thassarian's ice blue eyes in a face prematurely aged study me with a strange interest, as if I were an unknown species of insect. Something he may crush under his plated boot, without intention – and without remorse.

Hatred for what he is burns in my veins. _Too many lies…_I hear Taelan say. Yes, it's just in my mind. All of a sudden I feel like chuckling. Maybe I am finally going insane.

Thassarian seems to think we two can bring down the necropolis looming above the ziggurat we're hiding in. Vaguely, I remember agreeing to help. I must have been dead tired last night.

With numb fingers, I rummage in my bag for the package of food. It's hard to say what is more permeating: the odor of fish or the smell of undeath. A rasping sound starts me – and it takes a moment until I realize it is my own laughter.  
Well, some more dried salmon is definitely not the thing that might kill me today.

* * *

_I am the Reaper._

The image that forms in my mind's eye almost makes me laugh. My sword gathers the pale rays of the sun and sparkles with light as I swing it sideways, cutting an abomination in two. Green fluids splash in the air, clinging in my hair, on my face. I resist the temptation of wiping it away – I must not lose focus.

I cannot advance too fast, only one step at a time, plowing through a writhing mass of Scourge. The temple of En'kilah is three times over more strongly guarded than Stratholme and it takes all my strength to keep going forward, carving a path through ghouls, necromancers and gargoyles. If it were not for the Light which drives my sword, they would tear me apart in seconds. Even so, I dread the moment when exhaustion will overcome me.

The only way to access the floating necropolis is to use some scrolls empowered with dark magic, which are in the possession of the high priests of En'kilah. This is the information Thassarian managed to wrest out of the captive lich, back at the ziggurat. I must admit I watched with great satisfaction how he used the phylactery recovered from the bottom of the lake to inflict terrible pain on the undead.

Somehow I am glad there is no time for introspection. Mind me, I, Merille Severinna Aylanes, will attempt to destroy a Scourge necropolis with the help of a very powerful and grim death knight, using information provided under torture by a lich.

Three scrolls, I remember myself. Their holders are to be found in the three towers that mark the north, east and west of En'kilah.

To my infinite luck, the Scourge are not smart. True, death knights and liches are Arthas' most fearsome servants, cunning and ruthless. But the average undead is as spiritless as a rock and all that drives them forth to battle is the sheer will of extinction their master has imprinted upon them. I have learned that first hand, despite certain theories very dear to Inquisitors, that the undead are to the last one agile minds able to infiltrate among the living. I could not cut my way through an organized defense, their numbers are too great. However, ghouls and abominations alike, they do not form any resistance and only come forward instinctively to crash against my sword, my battered armor.

Three scrolls and the eastern tower only meters away. An empty circle consecrated by the Light marks the place where I stand. Close enough. I start running.  
My boots make a weird crunching sound on the frigid stone pavement as I climb the winding stairs inside. It feels oddly reassuring that there's a certain pattern to all Scourge buildings – these towers do not look very much different from the ones I've been in, back in Terrordale.  
Two more guards, this time cultists of the damned, dressed in long, dark robes and carrying intricately carved focus staffs. After the grim harvest outside, their flesh is nothing to the sharpness of my blade. A sound of broken bones as the sword's edge hits the collarbone and one of the cultists folds down, blood spraying from the severed carotid. The second conjures forth a wave of shadow and for a brief second I feel pain. Him too falls, hands clenching uselessly around his middle, trying to stop his guts from spilling out. I shudder despite the rapture of Light. Such ugly wounds...

Forward, past another set of stairs and into a large, oval room. Dancing shadows fill every corner and a vileness that makes my hairs rise. The priest watches me, shock spreading over his elven features, as I come to stand in front of him, holding my blood dripping sword in both hands. A moment, before he starts chanting into the harsh language of the Scourge. This time I make a very clean cut, swinging the blade with my entire strength. The priest's head rolls across the hall, surprise still written on his face, while the body takes one or two swaying steps in my direction and finally falls. Hot red drops land on my neck and forehead. The world tilts violently and my mouth tastes like bile as I bend to search the corpse for the scroll.

One down, two more to go. I start running again

It is not until three hours later that I meet Thassarian at the gates of En'kilah. He studies the scrolls with a frown and shakes his head, then points towards a slab of stone, some ten paces away.

"The teleportation device…" he mutters to himself and I follow, watching intently as he presses some marks onto the seemingly dull granite. It suddenly comes to life, glowing with a blue light. I go closer, yet Thassarian stops me. The strength of his grip feels even through the plate armguards I wear.

"I will not lie", he says bluntly. "We may not come alive out of Naxxanar."

Distantly I wonder whether technically a death knight could consider himself alive. My mind is playing games of late. No, I realize, it is my life which – he thinks – is at stake.  
Sure, slaying half of the Scourge in the temple was a breeze. Did it even occur to him I might get pneumonia from diving into freezing cold water to recover the phylactery the day before?

"Let us do it", I hear myself say. "It is now or never – and if I came so far I'm staying until the end."

The ghost of a smile plays over Thassarian's lips.  
"Stay close", he says as he walks onto the stone and – in the space of a breath, I take the same step too. A tingling and uncomfortable sensation washes over me - it is like being plucked apart fiber by fiber - then I hear again the death knight's voice, urging me forward, up a narrow flight of stairs and on another teleportation stone. It feels a daunting effort just to breathe and for a couple of seconds I am not able of anything else. We must be standing atop the necropolis right now – a huge and surprisingly empty circle.

Suddenly, the air in front of us shimmers and two forms appear on two opposing sides of the platform. One is the bulky form of a man I've seen back in Valiance Keep, Councilor Talbot. The other one…

Blood seems to go cold all of a sudden in my veins. It is not a man in flesh and bones, only a magical projection, but even so panic starts clawing at my throat. Dark, wicked metal covers his body from head to feet and the blade he carries sparkles on its entire length with intricately carved runes. Evil radiates outwards – such corruption I have never felt before. My mind struggles to form a coherent thought, to put a name to that figure. From the depths of the spiked, frightening helmet, ice blue eyes watch impassively the human that advances towards him.  
I'm sure they should see us any moment now, but we stand in the shadow, towards the edge of the circle and they are obviously not concerned about the possibility of intruders at this point.

Suddenly, Councilor Talbot's frame shifts and becomes taller and slimmer. I gape at the elf that bends his knee in front of the dark projection.

"My liege, the infiltration and control of the Alliance power structure by our cultists is well underway."

**"Your progress in this region has been impressive, Blood Prince Valannar."** That voice stirs every last atom of my being. I sense it in my skull, strong and compelling – and I remember it, haunting my nightmares, those terrible days before the fall of Havenshire and Tyr's Hand.** "I am pleased..."**

"Please allow me to show you some proof of the influence over human minds I have been granted by the power you bestowed upon me."

Another faint shimmering in the air and two more silhouettes, a man and a woman appear by his side. They move as in a trance, their steps slow and faltering. The man I recognize to be general Arlos, the very commander of the Alliance forces in Valiance Keep. The woman looks young, with long, black hair…

"Leryssa!"

Thassarian's shout makes the air vibrate all around us and he runs forward, into the open. So much for not being noticed. The thought crosses my mind, then vanishes. I cannot focus on anything else but the way in which the hilt of the sword feels in my clenched fist. _Light, grant me strength in this time of need, you are my shield and my refuge..._

"What have you done to my sister, you motherless elf scum!?"

The dark, towering silhouette of the Lich King - realization numbs my senses – turns slowly around. It's just a projection, I keep telling myself, but it does not help. Surely those blue eyes can cut through the very core of my soul and see the fear that boils there.  
"**Now this is a surprise, Thassarian."**, he rumbles. **"I hadn't heard from Mograine or the other deathknights for months. You've come to rejoin the Scourge, I take it?"**

"I would sooner slit my own throat.", Thassarian yells back. "You will pay for what you did to your own men, Arthas... for what you did to me! I swear it."

_Light, grant me the courage to be silent that I may hear your voice; to persevere, that I may share your victory; and to remember, lest I forget the way by which you have led me…_

"Allow me to take care of the intruders, lord. I will feed their entrails to the maggots."  
The Blood prince smiles pleasantly, as if he would find the prospect very entertaining. That smile alone suffices to send shivers down my spine.

**"Do not fail me, San'layn.", **the Lich King says dismissively. His image dims and flickers. **"Return to Icecrown with this fool's head or do not bother to return at all."**

A magical shield springs up around the Blood Prince at the very moment Thassarian charges into him, with a roar and a naked blade in each hand. I must be screaming something too on top of my lungs as I join him. Such a stupid thing to do in battle, wasting your breath.

I fight instinctively, dodging bolts of shadow magic and rains of fire. Thassarian yells at me, trying to cover the defening sound of battle. I cannot make out his words. A strange, purplish light suddenly darts from prince Vaalanar's hands, as I bring down my sword with my entire might upon his shield.

The blow makes my ribs crack and squeezes all breath out of my lungs. It burns. Knees fold under my weight and I collapse, vaguely expecting to see blood spraying out of my severed torso. Oddly there is none. I gasp uselessy for the tiniest shred of air then mercifully darkness closes over me.


	8. The long journey: Blind soul

_A/N: Finally completed this, after a couple days' struggle. _

_Corey: Many thanks for your feedback; you guessed pretty well what is coming up and it really helped clear some ideas I had in my head. I hope you'll keep reading and telling me what you think._

_ everyone else following this story: I hope you enjoy it so far. As you know, any sort of constructive feedback/criticism is welcome.  
_

_So, here it goes..._

* * *

Foam topped waves broke in the distance, the sound they made like the rhythmic breath of a huge beast. Or the beat of a heart. A lonely one. Sev pulled the blanket tighter against her shoulders. Light, she felt cold…

Too many times of late she had found herself thinking how much she yearned for the times when good was good and wrong was wrong and no path to tread in between. She had heard it named fanaticism, the Scarlet Crusade blamed for its unyielding attitude against the evil, yet it felt comforting to _know _what you had to do. But then the seed of doubt had taken deep roots in her soul - _who decided what was good and what wrong?_

_"You can say that again", _Thassarian commented, seating himself next to her. She blinked in surprise, then understood she had been speaking her thoughts loudly. With a barely hidden smile, he handed her a steaming mug and Sev wrinkled her nose at the fragrance. Kalu'ak tea. She wasn't sure the mixture didn't contain some powdered fish as well.

Ten years of fighting in the Plaguelands had taught her one thing. If you had the misfortune of encountering a death knight you either slew him or died. Usually the second. Having one watch over you and bring medicine tea simply did not fit in. The absurdity of the situation made her uneasy. She had always been one for patterns, for solid things that could be touched and relied on. Rules made her feel…safe. But there was no safety there. No comfort.

_"What did it feel like?"_ she suddenly asked, warming her hands around the mug. From their vantage point, they could see a large portion of the coast, far to the east and west, small lights sparkling in the darkness here and there. _"Do you…remember?"_

It was difficult to see Thassarian's expression in the sunset shadows. He certainly understood what she meant.

_"I do", _he answered after a moment. _"Not all of it. Some memories are dimmer – like when you wake up after a night of heavy drinking. Others are clear, as if it happened yesterday. I remember the screams…and the blood…and the pleas to be spared…Somehow it didn't seem…wrong at that time." _He paused for a while, staring into the distance. _"I remember his voice in my head, drowning everything else."_

_"You had no control over your own choices…"_ But the real thought beneath it had been what was worse: to have no choice because someone controlled your every action or because the rules you consciously decided to live by made it so. Realization came as a shock and she took a mouthful of the horrid tasting tea to hide her frown.

_"I surrendered it…willingly. In the beginning. Then…it didn't matter anymore. I was aware of what I did – yet felt nothing at all. No remorse, no shame."_ Thassarian's voice was calm in a disquieting way. Severinna felt a chill running down her spine.

"_I could ask you the same", _he continued, after a brief moment of silence._ "What does it feel like to be doing things your mind doesn't agree to?"_ A half smile twisted his lips. _"Such as helping me."_

There. He had pointed exactly to the core of the matter, so easily she truly felt taken aback. Naked.

" _Are you such a fine reader of people's thoughts?"_ she snapped.

"_No." _He gave her again that cold eyed stare. _" Just used to deal with…your sort." _There had been a hesitation there, and she knew very well the words to fill it in.

"_I don't know." _She shrugged. For a time they stood there, listening to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. _"Does it matter?"_

"_I suppose not", _Thassarian agreed. _"Drink the damned tea already. It's running cold. Besides…I don't think you're in any condition to leave tomorrow at dawn as you want."_

She frowned again, this time at him, wanting to hate him again, not for what he was but because he showed concern for her fate. It made everything so much more difficult. In the end there was no simple and clear cut way of sorting out the right from the wrong…

"_I'm leaving nonetheless",_ she said quietly. It was the sensible thing to do. She wished it didn't sound so much as surrender...

* * *

The horse stumbled through the blizzard and knee deep snow covering what should have been a road.

Holding the reins in a white knuckled grip, Severinna struggled with the fur lined cloak. It was useless. Cold gusts of wind slashed against her cheeks and seeped under the heavy cape no matter what she did.

Everything around was dead quiet. Silence did not bother her usually, but now it held an ominous feeling she could not shrug off. Without thinking she started to hum a small tune, a half forgotten song from her childhood…something about sun and golden fields and the fragrance of ripe grain drifting into the air...

It was nearing midsummer back in Lordaeron, a time of celebration with bonfires raised as tall as a man, and the harvest pole around which unmarried men and women would dance and twine long colorful ribbons. The church of Holy Light frowned upon this tradition, but no amount of frowning could actually prevent the burning of fires, the dancing and the joy…

A sudden stab of pain in the chest pulled her out of reverie rather harshly. The invisible scar acquired during the fight atop Naxxanar still hurt at times. It was not a "true" wound; the flesh was intact and nothing showed the extent of damage. Blood Prince Valanor's magic, Thassarian had explained, reflected the hurt she had inflicted upon him. It would heal in time though, the death knight assured her, the same a normal wound did.

She had been nonetheless ill for a couple of days, almost to weak to move. There were no healers in Death's Stand and in her condition Valiance Keep was out of reach. The Kalu'ak had sent one of their medicine men to look over her, but there was not much he could do, except for having her drink some strangely soothing tea. She had drifted a while with fever, the pain just a faint memory at the edges of her consciousness as her body struggled against the poorly Healed wound.

She barely had any skill at all in Healing – just about enough to mend bruises and cuts. True, she had wanted once to learn and with the eldest members of the Silver Hand all having been clerics before taking up weapons, knowledge wasn't hard to come across.

Then the war started and put an end to everything else… The sword became her only reality - the endless fight against the Scourge. Sometimes even the Light seemed to wink out like a gutted candle, an unsteady flicker in between days of exhaustion, digging through ash and gore. She hanged on stubbornly to the familiar prayers and rituals, seeking a peace that did not come anymore…

With a sigh, Sev pushed the thought away and scanned the land around in a circle, forcing her eyes to see past the dense curtain of snow. The road forked, a second path running towards the right, into a small, sheltered copse. She thought she could also discern a line of tents, although she wasn't sure at that distance. Slowly, she turned the horse around to follow the new path. Scourge didn't _camp_ and whoever was there she could have at least a mug of hot tea and some water for the poor beast. Winter in Lordaeron was a pleasant joke compared to the summer of Dragonblight, it seemed. And the further she went it only got worse.

It was a camp all right, with oddly shaped tents lined on two rows around a small clearing. People hustled around, most of them clad in blue or violet robes, half covered by heavy woolen cloaks. And there were also druids of Kalimdor, their presence exotic enough for her to gape at. Except for Maeglin, she had only met Kaldorei elves once or twice before, when errands brought them across the Plaguelands. Tall, with skin a deep green or purple and long, thick hair whether braided or not, they wore preciously little clothing as compared to anyone else around, yet looked undisturbed by snow or cold.

No one seemed to notice her until she was in the middle of the encampment. Quite late if she were an agent of the Scourge. Sliding down from the saddle, Sev peered around, meeting distantly smiling Kaldorei faces and a much more human and annoyed frown on the face of a rail thin man draped in flowing robes. A handful of people stood gathered a couple steps away, around another woman – no, the ethereal image of one, Sev corrected herself, almost in shock. She wasn't a wide eyed child to gape at magic though, and then she didn't have a chance as the seemingly frail man caught her arm.

"What are you doing here? We don't need anyone melding into our readings. The situation is bad as it is and…"

Mages, Sev though disdainfully, noticing the quite visible emblem of the Kirin Tor embroidered on the man's robes.

She couldn't very well decide if she hated or only despised them, but their air of superiority and the preference for useless wordiness were bad enough, even without adding the usual lack of understanding of any practical matters. Such as a _war. _

The man studied her intently, as if wanting to drill a hole through her head, then suddenly he wriggled his fingers and she felt a piercing wave of cold. With a grunt, the mage released her arm.

"No illusion", he said half to himself and half to her. "At least you're not a dragon in disguise. Be swift about your business."

"Only some water, if you please". Sev tried to make her voice level and calm. The mage gestured around the camp, with a shrug.

"Whatever. Just be fast with it, woman…"

"Excuse me", someone else said, right behind her back. Turning around she saw one of the Kaldorei women, smiling down at her. The druidess towered more than a head and a half over herself, and she wasn't short, by human standards. "Maybe I can help, so you can return to your business, Archmage…"

The man looked relieved. He gave a nod and strode away, obviously putting the matter out of his head as soon as he turned his back on the two women. Severinna didn't have too much time to consider it either.

"Come", the Kaldorei said. A pointed sniff accompanied her gaze, while she frowned at the archmage. "They would be nice people if a little less…airy." She moved with the odd grace of her kind, gliding more than treading over the frozen snow. Despite the weather she wore only a light wool cape over a snuggly fit leather tunic, yet she didn't seem to mind the cold at all. Sev started after her, trudging heavily in her plated boots.

"You could use something warm to eat, I suppose", the druidess continued, lifting a tent flap and motioning the other in. "And hot tea, of course. I will take care of your horse."

"That would be more than I hoped for, thank you", Severinna managed. The warmth inside the tent came as a blow after so many hours of relentless blizzard and she had to lean against one of the wooden posts to keep herself upright.

The Kaldorei disappeared, leaving her alone in the dim lit tent. Steadying with a grunt, Sev started to peel away her gloves and cloak, enjoying the short respite. She would have to ride on soon, she couldn't afford more than an hour's rest.

Her thoughts were once more interrupted by the sound of steps. The tent flaps came open again to allow in a short woman, with a motherly figure and graying hair neatly tied in a bun at the back of her head. She carried a small tray, which held a plate with some dried cheese and bread, and a mug of steaming brew. Mageroyal tea. Sev inhaled deeply, feeling exhaustion drift away with the fragrance. The woman gave her a short, assessing look before placing the tray down on a small table.

'What do we have here?' she muttered. Only then did Sev become aware they were not alone. A man lay on piled up blankets along one of the tent walls. He seemed asleep, yet at a closer look she didn't fail to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his chest and shoulder.

The motherly looking woman bent down to study the wounded man, deft fingers setting the bandage into place where it had slid away. He stirred a bit and groaned.

"The letter. Must send…the letter…to Wintergarde."

"Sure", the woman said absently. She straightened, then bent again, to pull another blanket over the injured. "I will send it as soon as I find someone heading there."

"Urgent…" the man whispered. His voice broke into a wheeze and the woman sighed, shaking her head.

"I know, I know". She patted the blankets comfortingly. "Need rest now, worry later…" With a shrug she turned over to Severinna and smiled, as if she had just become aware of her presence. "Why don't you eat, sweetie? You look famished to me…"

_Sweetie. _Biting her tongue, Sev forced a grimace that could have been taken for a weak smile.

"Poor man. Ambushed by the Scourge…barely made it here. I still don't know if he'll live or not. He carried some letters. Important he says." The woman sighed, cocking her head to one side. "Are you headed to Wintergarde, by any chance?"


	9. The long journey: Tying up the ends

**_A/N_:** Okay, so here is the next bit. I had an itch to write and a less busy day at work so I wrote whenever my boss wasn't looking :) which means it's probably full of typos... But I could not wait to put it up, so please, be forgiving with me. I will definitely appreciate if you point out to me the typos or inconsistencies nonetheless.

Thanks again for reading & reviewing and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too.

* * *

I wished I didn't always end up doing **that. **

On the map, Wintergarde looked not very far from the shore where New Hearthglen had been supposedly built. That map, crumpled and stained and filled with annotations on the edges I had been carrying since I left the smoldering ruins of New Avalon… A very quiet place after the Scourge razed it to the ground. No dead to tell the stories, if one did not count the skulls lacing the huge miasma cauldrons which dotted the once fertile fields where farms had been.

No, the dead had marched away to sweep the living in their wake. The land itself stood silent and horrified by the slaughter it had witnessed. I walked along rows of houses, thatched roofs fallen in, windows glaring empty onto a gray, rainy day, knocking here and there things out of my way. A cooking pot. A mug. A little girl's doll.

The map I found back in the keep. Stone did not burn as well as wood did, and the Scourge had never been great at finishing things. It lay under a broken table, an inconspicuous piece of parchment, mountains and rivers barely sketched, in ever closing circles on a scribbled word: **Icecrown**. An old map probably made after one of the first explorations of the frozen continent. I filled it in a little bit since my arrival here. Maybe I am going to sell it one day, to an enthusiastic dwarven cartographer, in search of fresh knowledge. If I would ever leave this place again. If.

In the mean time, I am too busy with fetching reports and letters all across Northrend. At least this time I got something out of it. The druids were willing to provide me one of their tamed hippogriffs for a swift travel. I hate heights. But I grew to hate snow even more during the past months, so it made for a change.

Wintergarde was supposed to be the greatest Alliance settlement in Northrend. I expected the hustle and bustle I had seen in Valiance Keep or even Valgarde, with new recruits arriving every day and supply cart being unloaded. But as my hippogriff soared under a clear morning sky, which definitely brought my heart in my throat, I saw broken parapets and smoke billowing in the wind. A shadow lay over the land, something so utterly familiar it made my hair stand on end even before I found its source. And then my eyes remained glued on that threatening shape, every intricate contour visible under a glorious morning sky. True, Scourge constructions may look all alike, but I would recognize this necropolis from a thousand more. I have tested its defenses more than once before and still have nightmares of it floating over Terroradale.

**_The dreaded Naxxramas, seat of Kel'Thuzad._**

Then I started hearing the screams.

"Are you going to sit there all day long, girl?"

I didn't really notice when I have gotten off the hippogriff's back. I just stood there, clutching the bundle to my chest and gazing into the sky. I gave myself a shake and looked around, meeting the eyes of a grizzled lieutenant. Helmet held under his arm he studied me carefully. Screams of horror broke again, not very far away. I flinched and licked my lips.

"I have a message for High Commander Wrymbane."

"And what would that be?" he asked circumspectly. "He has enough on his head as it is…"

"A letter." I took it out from my pocket and held it in front of the man so he could see the seal was still intact. " The courier has been ambushed on his way here, from the Tundra. I was just asked to deliver it, ok?'

"Hmh." He snorted, gave me another disbelieving look, then pointed somewhere down the slope.

"He'll be there, leading the defense. I'd be swift if I were you, girl."

His attitude left no doubt that I should be moving and fast. I couldn't remember very well the last time I had to take orders in such a blatant manner. Back in Stratholme I was _giving _the orders and the Light have mercy of who wasn't fast enough to carry them out. Curiously enough, those days seemed dim in my memory. There were moments I could not recall at all, like a dream that had vanished as soon as I have woken up.

"Haven't you got there yet?" The lieutenant scowl deepened. I found it wisely to salute and start at a trot in the direction he had indicated. Making a fool of oneself had never been a habit of mine.

I found the High Commander overseeing the defenses of the gates. Wintergarde had been built on two tiers: the hill leading up to the mountain was heavily fortified, with a double wall and guard towers every fifty yards or so. A fine position, I noticed, easy to defend in case of need.

Beneath, on a rolling expanse of land around the hill slopes, laid the city proper: two storied houses, shops and churches, spread out almost as far as I could see. The sight made my skin crawl. Gargoyles and undead wryms poured down from the belly of Naxxramas, circling like carrion birds over the lower tier of Wintergarde. Down there the screams were like sharp needles, piercing through my brain. Groups of necromancers moved along the streets, easy to recognize even in the distance in their dark purple robes. Other flickers of movement caught my eye as well. Probably ghouls and geists shambling among ruins to find more corpses that could be raised into undeath and used as cannon fodder.

Commander Wrymbane was a middle aged man with the air of one who had seen many battlefields and paid the butcher's bill more than once. He paced nervously in front of the gates, shouting encouragements to his people as they fought to keep the Scourge away from the stronghold. From the wary and strangely protective looks of the soldiers around I guessed the Commander had tried not once to throw himself into battle and had to be almost forcefully removed from it.

It took him minutes to notice me standing a few steps away, arms crossed over my chest. He frowned, and then strode to me, his expression oddly resigned, as if he expected the entire weight of the world to fall on his shoulders over the next few moments.

"News?" he asked sharply. I nodded yes and presented the letter I had been carrying. He took it briskly, turned it in his hands inspecting the seal then unfolded it. His lips curled into a bitter smile as he read.

"This comes from Death's Stand?"

"Yes, sir." It was almost as much as I knew. The poor courier had not been in any condition to give details. Vaguely I remembered Thassarian mentioning something about dispatching someone to Wintergarde, with the information he had managed to wrest from the lich at Naxxanar. It must have been during the days I had laid with fever because everything was dim.

Commander Wrymbane crumpled the note in his fist, then spat on the ground and pointed an accusing finger towards the stone arch of the gates.

"Too late." Only then did I notice the line of corpses hanging high from the arcades. "Ghoul bait", he grated. "Now, we need any hand available to help us rescue those still alive down there!" A new rumble of screams rose just then from the burning hell on the lower tier, as if to underline his words. "Can you fight?"

Matter of fact I did not think I knew how to do anything else.

I joined one of the parties that were struggling to pull out any survivors before the Scourge could get to them. It was not a nice sight at all. For a while I just sunk into the mechanic routine of blindly killing, hacking at the undead with sword and light all together. Find someone still breathing, patch them up and send back in the keep. It was an endurance test as much as anything else. Men panted and scrambled through ruins and thick billowing smoke, hurrying to cover as much ground as they could.

Around three hours in the afternoon, the screams faded. There couldn't have been survivors left by that time – the Scourge is swift in striking. Commander Wrymbane stopped the rescue operations and pulled all troops back into the keep, forming defensive barriers around the gates.

I dragged myself in along with the rest. Food and drink had been brought and medics came with them, checking on each every wound, a healing spell here, a hastily wrapped bandage there. Myself I had escaped mostly unscathed but exhaustion crept over me after more than two days with scant meals and even less sleep.

Picking up my small bundle and filling my pockets with dried cheese, apples and bread I withdrew from the general rumble and staggered away on a side alley. I wished nothing more than to pass unnoticed and be able to continue my journey the next morning.

New Hearthglen stood south, somewhere beyond the undead lines. I had gotten a chance to survey the landscape though, from the gryphon's back and I was sure I could make it through, provided time and caution. I had after all managed to survive for seven years in the Plaguelands under the sight of Naxxramas.

But I needed was a horse and some supplies after all, both of them likely to be in scarce supply in a city under siege. I surveyed the contents of my purse with a frown. I had never had too much gold and the little I managed to scramble in Menethil before setting off was largely gone by now.

I seated myself on the edge of a small stone fence to catch my breath. The damn wound in the chest was hurting again and so did my head. I was hungry and thirsty and somewhat angry… Images of torn bodies lying in pools of kept flashing in front of my eyes, no matter how much I tried to shake them away. Why would the Light allow such things to happen? Why would it leave its faithful into the grasp of the Scourge – mindless tools raised to serve in eternal torment?

Rubbing vigorously my temples I fished a piece of cheese from the pocket and took a bite out of it. Even the food tasted like ashes. Nausea made my throat clenched but I struggled to swallow.

The dull buzz in my ears subsided somehow and I became aware once more of the sounds around myself. In a small garden nearby a man was lecturing a group of guardsmen on the dangers of Naxxramas. Were they already preparing the counterstrike? I wondered idly. Commander Wrymbane definitely seemed like one to plan ahead.  
"Next, I shall speak of the death knight wing of Naxxramas. It is there where our finest warriors are corrupted and twisted into the Scourge's greatest weapons…"

Tired as I was, that voice made my breath hitch. I rose and peering around the corner I saw him – a tall man, dressed in one of those robes the priests used to wear back in Lordaeron.

"Dawnbringer."

The name had left my lips before I was aware of it. I must have spoken very loudly, because some of his listeners turned to stare at me, and so did Eligor Dawnbringer himself. Obviously, he did not recognize me on the spot. I backed off, awkwardly, trying to straightened and turn my back on them at the same time. I had even managed a couple staggering steps when someone caught my arm from behind.

"I remember you", Eligor Dawnbringer said softly. "You served in Stratholme, under Saidan Dathrothan himself."

I had no other choice than to stop, turn and look him in the eyes.

"What are you running from?"

_Damn i__t__!._ He held my arm so tightly I could not pry it away, try as I might. Not unless I hit him, which I was very likely to do anyway if he did not release me soon.

"Where are you coming from?" he continued heatedly, even if his tone did never rise past a whisper. "New Hearthglen? Or rather that outpost to the north?"

I glared back hard, but thanks the Light I was able to keep my voice steady. "None", I said. "Just arrived from Valiance Keep. Let me be!"

"Now, now", he said mildly, "why so much displeasure at seeing someone who had been through the same fights as you?"

"I've never been able to tell whether you betrayed the Crusade…or the Dawn…or rather both!" Anger was seeping off me now and there was nothing I could do to control it. I tried again to yank my arm free, yet all he did was start walking, dragging me with him in the process.

"Well, none." The man dared to shrug. "The Brotherhood believes the Dawn has to many scruples…and the Crusade too little brains. You on the other side…"A smile crept on his lips as he inspected me. "I heard many were left behind when the Onslaught sailed north."

"None of your business!" Now the arm I was trying to wrest free had started to hurt as well, to top the sharp stabs of pain through my chest and the dull ache in my head.

"I think you were one of those people she left to their fate when Tyr's Hand fell", Dawnbringer commented sharply. "Abbendis has gone mad. The Onslaught are raiding Wintergarde's supplies, cutting off our lines, killing our men… If we let them stand, she will be at our throats before the dust settles." Again he studied me thoroughly, frowning. "If you could get into New Hearthglen and give us at least some insight into her plans…"

"Never!" I almost spat. This time he released me and stepped back. "Never!"

"Be it as you say." He shrugged. Whatever he pretended about following the teachings of the Light, this man was as shrewd as most of the Crusade's leaders – if not worse. It made me sick, all of it. Did he really think I would betray my people so? He released me and stepped back, still measuring me, considering.

"You should leave Wintergarde", he said quietly. There was however a great deal of threat in that quietness. "Now."

So much for the _we all fight against the threat of the Scourge_ story, I thought bitterly. I was either with them or against them and that was all about it. Never mind. I did not have a fancy for the Brotherhood of the Light and the Argent Dawn myself. I would have rather avoided them, yes, as opposed to many others who would openly look for conflict, but that was as far as my tolerance went.

"Be assured I will", I sneered back. I wished I could show as much frozen calm as Dawnbringer did, but it wasn't easy, not then… When I sailed north I knew what I may face. I thought I knew. Then back in Valgarde, for a while, the path had seemed clear to me. That was of course before I started remembering. Each day more now. I wasn't really sure whether all those things had happened to me. Sometimes they seemed so distant and unreal I wasn't sure they happened at all. But they must have and the knowledge does not soothe me in any way.

My fingers graze unconsciously over the plate a certain spot right above my heart, where a small mark has been burned into my skin, long ago. The crimson "L" which stands for a land torn asunder by war. And for the bloodshed done in the name of the Light…

No, I shouldn't have thought like that. But I couldn't avoid it either. I watched Eligor Dawnbringer stride away, and then started in the opposite direction. If I had no horse then fine, I was just going to walk…

"Where are you going, girl?"

My jaw set in what I had been told before was an expression of utter and unyielding stubbornness I turned around, only to see the lieutenant that had guided me earlier.

"On with my business", I snapped back.

"I saw you gave a hand with the rescue operation", he said completely unflappable. "You should rest and have a bite to eat."

"I must go", I insisted. I didn't own the man any explanation at all. Damn them all, I had only arrived in Wintergarde because of that damned letter. But if Dawnbringer was right and the relations with the Crusade as tense as he had described them, all it would probably take was him _hinting _at who I was.

"Go?" The lieutenant eyes me warily, arching a thick eyebrow. "You wouldn't make it as far as the forest edge, with this entire Scourge and the Light only knows what else."

"I will make it as far as the Light wills it." My head seemed a ripe melon ready to burst under the pressure.

He seemed to be weighting me. After a while he gave a pointed sniff and shrugged.

"I hate the thought of putting you out there right now…but then you have the looks of one that could manage."

"One meter and a half of sword can usually give this impression to people". The man laughed, even if not joyfully.

"It's all up to your skill, girl… There's a small outpost somewhere to the south east. Commander Wrymbane would very much like to send word to them, but he cannot spare even a single man from here, you see why…"

"Yeah, I could do for ghoul fodder", I commented lightly. A frown crossed the lieutenant's face, but he didn't voice his protest. Again he seemed to be pondering the options.

"I will give you the fastest horse", he promised after a moment. "Ride to the southeast and you should be clear of the Scourge. There's a large crossroads there, and you can reach safely into the Grizzly Hills. Or wherever you are headed", he rectified after a short hesitation.

"Done", I said. I itched to get away from Wintergarde, and it would have been preferable to do it on day light if I were to cross the lines of Scourge. The grizzled lieutenant nodded in approval and turned on his heel starting back towards the stable yards. Only then I realized he hadn't given his name and neither did I give mine. Strange thing this trust in times of war...

* * *

I must have traveled a six or seven miles, maybe more… The old soldier didn't lie, the horse he brought had been indeed swift like a sparrow. It had been past four hours in the afternoon when I left and almost dark when I finally saw the walls of New Hearthglen.  
The familiar name brought the sharp sting of tears to my eyes. Even under the purple tinged skies of the Plaguelands, the former domain of Mardenholde was still a beautiful place.

_Home_, I thought. Somehow, I did not believe it. A part of me wanted to run away. All those memories that had awaken of late in the back of my head…  
As I spurred my horse down the slope and descended towards the town I caught above the walls a glimpse of a scaffold and the crimson banners flailing in the chilling wind... I flinched.  
_Sure, so good to be home again…_


	10. The long journey: Light's lost hope

"What do you intend to do with her?"

Admiral Barean Westwind was a well built, graying man. Severinna had never seen him before, except for the statue that decorated the Hall of Arms in the Monastery, and like everyone else, thought him dead. That was how the _other _attempt of the Crusade against Prince Arthas and the Lich King had ended: in utter disaster.

But apparently he was well and healthy and had made his apparition as soon as the Onslaught had pulled ashore, full of advice and suggestions and words of wisdom…

She stood by the door, her head bowed respectfully and glancing sideways at the elder man's face. Somehow his presence made her uneasy. The weird pressure on her mind, preventing her to focus was almost palpable. And she had felt it before…she could remember _that. _

Barean Westwind looked forty, despite the graying hair. Oddly enough, he had been approaching forty five when the Northrend expedition started, and that was five or six years ago, barely at the end of the war.

High General Abbendis stared blandly out the window, into the darkening sky. The woman looked tired, Sev thought. Tired as if the weight of mountains bore on her shoulders. At times her fingers smoothed unnecessarily the folds of the crimson and white tabard she wore over a light coat of mail.

From her position, near the door, it would have been enough to turn her had a little to have another great view of the scaffolds. Four or five corpses swayed in the wind now and then, like broken puppets. Two were fresher; the others already weathered by snow and carrion birds. One of them was a woman. A fine eye for detail she had, Sev mused, feeling her stomach try to turn on itself. That was odd too. She knew for a fact those weren't the first hanged people she saw.

"I don't know…" General Abbendis' voice sounded absent, very little like herself. Severinna remembered her from before, a sharp and commanding presence." I believed them all lost…whoever remained back there, in Lordaeron. I had to choose. So hard to do." A frown touched her otherwise smooth features. Her eyes were clouded and unfocused and she bit her lips, as if struggling to catch an eluding thought… "I wish the Light would speak to me again. Show me the way…"

It was all Severinna could do to keep her head low and stare into the floor tiles. The Admiral made a small approving sound, and then looked back at her, considering.

"I'll take care of it. You need to rest more, Brigitte."

"I do", she agreed. "I feel so tired…"

The Admiral started to pace, his steps measuring the room precisely from one side to the other. Five steps, no more, Severinna thought. It was an effort to look down and seem meek.

"We must see how true her intentions are, of course", he said and he smiled. He closed the distance to the door and tilted Sev's chin with a finger, peering deep into her knot of unpleasantness in her belly suddenly became harder. "Tell me again where you come from, child."

"I served in Hearthglen", Severinna recited. That had been the happiest time she could remember for the past ten years. "Then I was dispatched to Stratholme, under the command of the Grand Crusader himself, and rose to Captain. When the Bastion fell I gathered who remained and fell back to Tyr's hHand. Then the attack on New Avalon was launched…" She frowned in the general direction of Birgitte Abbendis. "Not many survived _that _slaughter. Tyr's hand was lost. The communication lines with Hearthglen and Tirisfal cut, but I know they took severe losses too, in the attempt to reach New Avalon with reinforcements…_for us._ Why did _you_ sail north?"

That seething anger she had felt when realizing the High General had abandoned them to their fate came back, as strong as in the first moment and she had to fight it down. She had been luring herself with the promise of _home _but all she really wanted in that exact moment was to put her hands around Abbendis' throat. How dared she run? How could she let them all perish, like sheep in the butcher's yard?

"I knew there would be losses", the High General whispered unsteadily. "It was inevitable. The Light had granted me vision… The Onslaught _will _defeat the evil here, at its very core…"

Barean Westwind contended himself with a smile, still holding her chin up. On another man, it would have been fatherly and warm. On his lips it became a wicked grin which promised unpleasant things. "Be forgiving, Birgitte", he said mildly. "She has been away from her brothers and sisters for too long…"

Severinna swallowed hard, but clenched her jaw against further words of protest.

"Surely you have seen things that might be useful for us, during you stay in Wintergarde, for example", the Admiral continued slowly. "And we are never going to turn away anyone truly dedicated to our cause…anyone truly willing to obey and submit to the Light…"

_Obey and submit. _A part of her knew those words for truth, such a violent need that the realization shook Sev to the core. That part of her wanted to grovel and pour out whatever she knew.

"I am afraid I did not see much, Admiral. Except for the threat of Naxxramas, of course…"

He eyed her doubtfully but she held his gaze. After a moment, Admiral Westwind released her and stepped back, resuming his pacing across the room. High General Abbendis hadn't moved from the window. Something was amiss, Severinna thought. She couldn't place a finger on it, but it was.

"I suggest we welcome the girl home", the Admiral said lightly, seemingly making up his mind. "Her skills will be of great use here…"

"Sure", Birgitte Abbendis agreed. But she was still looking outside. Severinna wondered what the woman did see after all.

* * *

Perched on the mountain slopes in sight of Wintergarde Keep, the Scarlet Onslaught encampment was quiet early in the morning.  
Guard posts had been set up every fifty meters or so and two-men patrols would circle around the wooden palisade, saluting each other solemnly with a fist brought to the heart each time they met. Other than that, there was not much movement except for the thin smoke of cook fires and people climbing up and down the slope that led to the river to fetch buckets of water.

Regardless of the heavy pickets surrounding the area, the camp itself was not very well organized. Tents lay pitched here and there, mixed with roughly built wooden sheds, which served all ends and purposes, from stable to armory. A couple of these buildings however, lay close to the mountain wall, being more heavily guarded than the rest.

Shifting his shoulders under the weight of his armor, Gavin squinted against the pale morning sun, trying to keep a careful eye on his charge. The woman sat four or five paces away, her back propped against one of the banner poles while her gaze seemed to be scanning the camp. She frowned a lot, the young man thought. She had arrived only two days before, but ever since her expression had been one of incredulous disgust. Maybe that was exactly the reason he had been ordered to follow her around.

Another pair, a man and a woman, passed by talking quite heatedly and Gavin flinched. They wore long, ornate robes and cloaks with the scarlet flame embroidered on the back. Raven priests. It made his skin crawl. He did not even dare suspect _what _exactly this new order was and how they called upon the Light. If they did at all.

Working a painful knot of muscles in his back he returned to the task at hand. He felt uncomfortable around that woman, very much so. Her eyes were too knowing and her lips too fast to quirk into an ironic smile.

He had heard she had survived the massacre at New Avalon and had followed the Onslaught north on her own. Light knew she looked weathered enough for that. She was almost as tall as most men – only a palm shorter than himself – a lithe yet muscular figure with sun-darkened skin and auburn hair tied neatly to the back of her head. Premature lines of anguish and exhaustion creased here and there a face which was not beautiful. No, she was merely pretty, with a generous but stubbornly set mouth and green eyes – or maybe gray, Gavin couldn't tell. Their color seemed to be shifting with the woman's mood.

"Come here!"

Gavin snapped at attention instinctively at the sound of her voice, then, giving himself a mental shake, stepped forward.

"Didn't you get tired of following me around all day long?"

Her voice was as sharp as a razor blade. Not unpleasant, just cutting straight to the point, with very little regard for what _he _thought.

Matter of fact, he was tired. But Adair Rellion had ordered him personally to keep an eye on her at all times and no one in his right mind would disregard the commander's wishes. His temper was wicked, more so since they had been sent to that camp and a couple men had gotten flogged simply for daring to express an opinion.

"No, ma'am", he said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. The mail chest piece suddenly seemed very tight and uncomfortable under the woman's glare. "I mean, I have to see you are safe…"

"Sure", she retorted with a scowl. Her gaze took in the entire camp again. She seemed to be _considering._

"Are there a lot of prisoners?" She gestured vaguely towards that lot of wooden sheds set apart from the rest.

"A few." Gavin's mouth twisted slightly with the words but he struggled to keep a straight face. He had seen what happened to whomever was deemed not to be industrious enough in doing Light's will. Even when said will consisted in killing women or children. He didn't want to die and especially not the slow and painful death reserved for those who betrayed their oaths to the Scarlet Crusade. For all her scowls and frowns, that woman could be testing him, as far as he knew.

It was that fear of death that had kept him alive when New Avalon had collapsed in flames. He may have been just a young recruit, but his zeal had been remarked and seen as a sign of great potential - and so he found himself aboard the Sinner's Folly instead of ghoul food. He would do whatever it took to survive. _Whatever_ he had to.

"I heard the screams", the woman muttered. She looked…angry. No, he could not stand the thought himself of what was going on in those cells at times. The prisoners they took never lasted too long and no useful information was wrenched out of them anyway. But this woman had been one of the order since the very beginning and he would have expected her to grown used to the methods of the Inquisitors by then.

"Commander Rellion personally oversees the trials and inquiries", Gavin said bluntly. He hoped the discussion would end there, before she made him reveal anything he shouldn't. If anyone found out even the tiniest bit of it, he was going to be skinned alive – and that was the least he could expect.

There was something in the boy's eyes, Severinna thought as she resumed her casual observation of the camp. Later on, she would probably have to lead one of those incursions against Wintergarde supply caravans. She didn't like it in the least –not as long as they were all fighting against the Scourge, but likes and dislikes of that sort meant nothing in the ranks of the Scarlet Onslaught.

Oh, sure, she had been making her own choices since she was a child no older than ten. Then suddenly she didn't and she couldn't remember when or why, only that she had grown accustomed to obey and to whatever she was sent to and shove away emotions for useless weakness. Her memory was a maze of scattered facts she knew nonetheless for true. And now she had the choice again and she couldn't let go of it. Never again.

With that in mind, she looked again at young Gavin, trying to pretend she was not.

The "faithful" Abbendis had chosen for the journey north were a mixed lot, some of them elderly and high ranking among the Scarlet Crusaders – like herself, others quite young and inexperienced, who could barely tell one end of their sword from each other. Which did not make them less dangerous, of course. Weathered soldiers knew the price of blood, but these recruits were easily swelled by fanaticism and more likely to hang whoever they thought didn't fit with their beliefs.

Which was roughly three thirds of the world, Severinna mused to herself, everyone that could be _suspected _of being corrupted or simply were not enthusiastic enough in their faith in the Holy Light. And surely it did not help a little bit that Adair Rellion had been entrusted command. She knew the man quite well from their days in Stratholme and wished she didn't. As the things went sooner or later they were going to clash and then there was going to be no choice at all…

He had been kicked out of the army before the Plague even if, out of mercy, his superiors made it seem an early retirement due to health problems.

The true reason lay buried in his records and those had probably burned long since, with the rest of Lordaeron. Not that the man would particularly care or that such reasons would have mattered for the Onslaught. He enjoyed killing too much…thrived to see other people suffer and writhe in agony. His secret shame had proved to be very useful in the service of the Scarlet Crusade. There were always prisoners to break, captured spies to make talk. The inquisitors were good at that, and from what Sev remembered, he considered himself even better.

When had that happened, she wondered distantly. When had the Crusade changed so, from the last bastion of hope Lordaeron had to this blood thirsty hydra that had come to the shores of Northrend? She had been there through the most of it, yet she did not see the omens. And now it was too late. Too late for the Crusade, at the very least. Maybe not for each and everyone of them, though.

* * *

The candle flickered unsteadily as Gavin made his way towards the prison barracks. He had timed again his visit, late at night, so that the guards would be dousing near the fire built some ten meters away and he would be able to sneak inside unseen.

"Please…" The voice was hoarse, like metal grinding on stone. He stopped abruptly, peering to his right to see the haggard face of a woman. She lay directly on the floor, her hands clenched around the rough door bars. "Please…a drop of water…have mercy…"

Again, he felt the hot surge of anger realizing the torturers were not even allowing the prisoners to drink. He pushed it down though, knowing he had to move fast or he would join the poor victim in her agony. From the scrip on his shoulder he pulled a waterskin and squeezed it through the bars, flinching when ice cold hands touched his.

"Thank you…" the woman managed. The rest was lost into a frantic gulping of water, obviously afraid he might just reach back and take it from her.

"Be at ease", Gavin whispered. What he had seen since he was assigned to the command of Adair Rellion made him sick to the marrow. Had everyone else completely lost their mind, the basic sense of right and wrong? "I brought you some food too…"

She had been flogged again. She held her left arm at an unusual angle, which made him wonder just how many other broken bones she had. Burns, cuts and bruises of varied severity adorned all patches of skin not covered by the tattered dress she wore.

Gavin's stomach tried to knot on itself at the sight. He could not make himself look at such physical wounds without feeling uncomfortable. He hoped he never would.

"Why are you here?" he asked softly? The woman glanced at him over the rim of the waterskin, nervously licking her lips. He was one of her tormentors after all. Shame fluttered in his belly, following the anger he had felt just moments before.

"M…my husband", she said after a while. "He disappeared for years. I thought him dead…We even made a funeral…since I had no body to bury properly…And then since a few months, he came back to me…" The woman paused, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position. A low pained moan escaped her lips. "He took me here…said we can make a new home…where people do not hate him for what he is. He's…not himself anymore. But he loves me and our two children, you know? And he's so sorry for what he has done…I will not tell _them _where he hides…even if they kill me. He does not serve the Scourge now. And neither do I."

Gavin grimaced. He had become familiar with the Inquisitors' methods. They could torture someone to a bloodied mess and then just heal them and start all over again, denying their victim even the last refuge, the embrace of death…

Another moan came off the poor woman's lips. She must have been in a lot of pain. Kneeling near the cell door, Gavin squeezed his own hands through the bars.

"Is it broken? "

She nodded. That close, she looked even worse, eyes sunken into the back of her head, lips dried and bloodied.

_One that serves the Scourge deserves nothing else, _a small voice started by rote in his mind. He snuffed it out, disgusted.

"I cannot do much", he said surprised to hear a very steady voice. Father Marcus, back in Havenshire, used to say he had potential. He was able to call upon the Light, even if mostly in fits and starts, and since he had come to Northrend he hadn't had the time to train his skill either. But even the little he was able to do would ease the poor woman's pain. He heard her gasp in shock as the light wrapped the both of them and then the next thing he knew, gauntleted fists closed on his shoulders…

* * *

A soft curse left Severinna's lips as she swiftly stood, brushing away the snow on her knees. Torch light spilled now through the crack in the back of the building she had used to follow Gavin's every move...Torch light and angry voices too...

* * *

"Betrayal!" someone shouted, while the man behind pulled Gavin harshly to his feet. "He is serving the Scourge as well…!"

Heated cheers rose around, as other hands extended to grip his clothes, restrain him – he might have well been ten times stronger for the enthusiasm they showed in restraining him.

The poor woman started to sob, asking them to spare him. It served for nothing, of course, but they were too busy with their new pray to silence her.

Gavin shivered. A face or two he knew…people he had fought alongside, back in the Plaguelands. Now they were all fixing him intently, their gazes hard and malevolent. They could probably see him hanging already. Panic crept into his belly, a hard knot of ice.

"To the gallows! To the gallows!"

Blinking again the strong light, all he could do was grit his teeth into what he hoped was a stern expression. He did not want to die. He feared it. But he would not let them see he was afraid either. _Light, make it quick. _It was the only thing that came to his mind. _Quick_.

"Now, don't get so hot boys, no one's hanging tonight…!"

All heads whipped towards the door, surprise dancing on everyone's face as they took in the woman standing there. Somehow, Gavin thought, she managed to look taller than the men holding him, despite being a head shorter in truth.

They eyed her with the same hatred as him, like famished wolves that had caught the scent of fresh blood.

"He was feedin' her ma'am", one of the men said, almost mockingly. "And healin' her. A scourge loving wench deserves nothing but to suffer...!"

"Because I ordered him so…" The woman sounded…unconcerned. She gestured towards the wretch on the cell floor. "She was sizing. A dead prisoner is good for nothing. What information can you get out of her if she's dead, mind you?""

"And who allowed you to _order _him?" That voice made Gavin's hair stand on end. If Adair Rellion had come himself, there would be no way out. His knees threatened to give way under his weight. He braced himself to stand, tried to pray, but every last thought in his mind was just incoherent babble. _You are going to die…going to die…die…'_

The woman stepped away from the door, to allow him to enter.A man in his mid forties, with graying hair at the temples and quite a statuesque figure, Adair Rellion stood out among the rest, even if his uniform was rather crumpled and his breastplate stained.  
He had not bothered himself in quite a while with such mundane tasks as cleaning them. He had other, more important things to do, and anyway, no one cared much anymore about the strict discipline the Scarlet Crusaders used to enforce.

"Well, you're the one who had him follow me day and night!" the woman snorted irritably."I though I could put the brat to some use, other than gaping at me, like some brain dead lout. When did recruitment standards fall so?"

"You're pushing it, woman", the commander grumbled. "I've said that no one comes near the prisoners except me, and I am the one who gives _orders _around here."

"Then have us flogged now and let's be done with it!" Arms crossed on her chest she was a picture of unruffled serenity, as if said flogging represented nothing more than a slight inconvenience. "I did what I thought best at the moment but I will submit to your…_judgment._ Flawed as it might be._" _

She threw the words and Gavin suddenly understood what she was trying to do. Everyone there would support the commander in killing two of their ranks supposedly corrupted by the Scourge. But people did not quite _like _Adair Rellion and a great deal few would back him up in hanging two people because they simply disagreed with him.

"Don't think I wouldn't…!" Broiling anger contorted the commander's features. "Indeed, I am more than glad to oblige. Twenty five strikes, each", he announced in the silence that had suddenly fallen over the crowd. It was a crowd allright, more and more Scarlets elbowing their way towards the door, to peer inside even for a second.

Gavin felt his knees melt. Not from fear, but from utter and unexpected relief, as the men holding him pushed him forward. He stumbled, unable to concentrate on anything else than the erratic beating of his own heart. The woman shot him a meaningful glance, before one of Adair Rellion's lieutenant's gripped her arm and set her into motion as well.

* * *

Twenty five strikes would not make or break her, Severinna thought, inhaling deeply as they walked towards the flogging post, set on one side of the camp. Of course – there _had to be a_ flogging post…. She had taken worse before and for lesser reasons.

It seemed however to be exactly what everyone had expected, for in a matter of minutes she had been dragged to the post, her wrists fastened to one of the chains, tall enough that it would uncomfortably stretch her entire body.

The same hands that had maneuvered the chains gripped the sides of her coat and pulled it sideways and down her back making the buttons pop. The shirt she wore underneath followed immediately with a crisp sound of torn linen and both pieces of garment gathered around her waist. She felt the bite of the cold against her skin, an eerie sensation tinged with embarrassment at being so exposed…then all exploded into burning pain as the flail landed on her naked back for the first time.

Tendrils of fire dug into her flesh and she could not repress a violent shudder. Ages seemed to pass until the next blow came. In between ragged breaths she counted the third and the fourth, drawing lines of molten pain through her bones. Her muscles felt like tense bowstrings, her wrists aching from the metal cuffs. Five. Six. Seven. She tasted blood as she bit back a cry. They would _not _hear her howl. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

A hot trickle started to run down her right side, where a particular hard blow had landed. Twelve. She blinked back drops of sweat and stinging tears, forcing to breathe through gritted teeth. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Somewhere not far she could hear Gavin gasp with each strike. He was waiting his turn, standing a few steps away, but she couldn't move her head around enough to see him. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

Another trickle started down her ribs, soaking the white linen shirt crumpled around her waist.

Twenty one. Twenty two.

The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Every fiber of her body felt ready to break under the strain of not screaming out in agony. Counting the lashes was stupid, of course, but she had not been calm enough to start with, to be able to use the mental trick which suppressed the pain she had learned from a priest years before.

Twenty three. Twenty four. Twenty five.

Suddenly the blows stopped. It could have been five minutes later – or an hour. She shuddered, slumping in the restraints, barely aware of the hands that were unfastening them, dragging her away. Adair Rellion watched her intently, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, and he wasn't the only one. Sev's gaze slid towards Gavin, as he took her place at the flogging post. The boy had yet to recover from the shock – he looked stricken. Well, the pain wouldn't make or break him either. But she had seen too many other things of the sort during the last month…ooh, too many of them. The thought was hard to acknowledge, even in the silence of her own mind. As much as she hated to admit it, Dawnbringer had been awfully right...


	11. Choices to make, prices to pay

"Abbendis must have lost it completely". Eligor Dawnbringer shook his head in dismay, closing the leather bound book he was holding. He looked as if he wanted to throw it away. After a moment, however, he tucked it into one of his saddlebags. It was written in the raw form of a journal, but almost everyone in New Hearthglen had a copy of it – teachings and rambling about the Onslaught's mission and how the purest had been selected by the Light to bring down the Scourge forever. "The Light's talking to her now?!"

The woman stared away over his shoulder but her tone was bitter when she answered.

"We're not discussing Abbendis' sanity here."

"What made you change your mind?" Eligor Dawnbringer asked quietly. The woman still did not look at him. She kept peering into the distance, all attention apparently focused on their surroundings. A gust of wind made their cloaks flutter and raised a whirlwind of snow.

"I didn't", she whispered after a while as an afterthought. "If I give you what you want, do we have a bargain?"

It was neater than Eligor Dawnbringer had dared hope.

"Yes", he nodded. "You're doing the right thing girl, you know that…"

"So they do say too…" She shrugged, finally deciding to meet his eyes. There was a hollowness to her gaze he had not noticed before in Wintergarde. Somehow it pained him. A price had to be paid for anything, but he would rather it was not this woman's soul. "I am sure Kel'Thuzd is convinced about the same thing as well…"

Dawnbringer grimaced. For a man in his mid-thirties, his face bore too many creases of worry and bitterness. Life hadn't been easy on him either.

"Then it's settled." He tried to sound unconcerned, as he held out his hand. "I swear to you, by my soul and the Light."

A last moment of hesitation, before she touched his outstretched palm, whispering the oath herself. Her fingers were cold and she snatched her hand away before he could grip it too firmly.

"I have to go. They might suspect something otherwise."

Dawnbringer nodded. Night was falling fast and the wind became sharper, stirring the snow under their feet, stabbing at their faces with a thousand invisible needles. Beyond the narrow circle of light his lantern made, the frozen waste gleamed milky as far as they could see, an odd luminescence of sorts, common to the northern lands. He watched her turn her horse around and start up the slope, the only sound to be heard the dry crunching of her horse's hooves over the frozen snow.

* * *

_I leave him pondering over our agreement. Back there, I could see the doubt in his eyes. Am I to be trusted? Or is it rather a trap High General Abbendis has carefully set up for the Argent Crusade? _

_Well, he will have to live with that doubt. I intend to hold him by his oath. _

_The haggard face that greeted me in the mirror this morning was the face of a stranger. A woman I have never met before. Yes, my mind struggles still against the truth, but pieces of a puzzle have been shifting and settling into their place all day long, until _Iknew _what had to be done._

_I avoided Gavin's presence as skillfully as I could. There are a few others who share his opinions, I know - he's told me all about it last night. All about the wrongness they have witnessed and the fact there is no place to run. Truth is anyone in their right mind would rather shoot one running from the Scarlet Onslaught than listen for their reasons. Such is the wonderful reputation we have carved out for ourselves. _

_A stranger in the morning, a traitor by the sunset… I think again of those children I've left in the camp, gathered around Gavin. Really, they're little more than that. At their age I was barely considered worthy to receive the initiation into the Order…yet here they are, fighting for a cause they never understood, far from home, in this land that belongs to the dead…_

_And now my choice's been made and there's no turning back. I never really had the option. No one leaves the Scarlet Crusade. I feel the weight of the decision settling heavily on my shoulders, a blanket of doubt and lost hopes. If I fail…_

_I can barely make myself climb back to the Onslaught camp, the searing knowledge of the price for failure branded in my brain. And even if I succeed, there will be a price to pay anyway. Somehow I don't find this thought comforting at all…_

* * *

_**A/N: **_

Just - Corey: Thanks again for reading and reviewing, your observations are of great help in sorting the fuzzy plotlines I have in my mind right now.

Gavin is not an ingame character as far as I know, although his name sounds _suspiciously _close to a paladin name from WC3, Gavinrad the Dire, if I remember correctly. It just came to me, I wrote it down and only realized afterwards why it felt familiar...but decided not to change it after all. Names among humans can be similar after all.

As for what they are going to do next, I wish I knew :) No, I am kidding, I know, but it is going to be quite dark and difficult to write.

_Oh, and just so you know. I did some research, and the need to be chaste was removed from all sects of the holy orders during the third war. People would have died out apparently._ = is it so obvious? ^^


	12. Finality

**Oh Light, grant us the grace to desire you with our whole heart, that so desiring we may seek you and find you and so finding you we may love you and loving you we may hate those sins from which you have redeemed us...**

* * *

"_Who gave the order?"_

Taelan's grip on my shoulders hurts as he shakes me violently. _"Who gave it?"_ I stare down at my hands even while my mind tries to close on itself, not to remember…not to remember… I wish I knew what I have to forget. My mind feels foggy, so cluttered I can barely recall my own name.

"_Who gave it? Was it the Inquisitors?" _He's begging me. His fingers dig into my flesh as if he were trying to tear me into pieces. I look into his face, that strong and beautiful face of his, only to see anguish and disappointment…and horror.

"_Who did it?! An entire village, women and children, razed to the ground. What sort of monster could have had the heart to do that?"_

"_Me!" _I yell back. I fight for air as the words pluck me apart, shred by shred, a never ending torture. His hands release me, so abruptly I am ready to fall and I stumble, bracing for a blow that never comes. He steps back and watches me, anger suddenly melting into a whirlwind of emotions, none of them forgiveness.

"_I did." _I cannot recognize my own voice, the sound of it foreign and ragged._ "I gave the order, Taelan! It was me…!"

* * *

_

Sev came to her senses with a start. She must have drifted into sleep, as hard as she had tried not to.

Releasing a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, her fingers found in the darkness the hilt of the sword and squeezed it, as if the touch could provide a small measure of reassurance. She had gone through the plan three times already in her head and the time seemed to have slowed to a crawl.

Moving too fast would be as bad as delaying too much she reminded herself, but still crawled out of the blankets to peer outside, through a small opening in the tent flap.

The northern lights danced in the sky, bathing everything in an eerie glow. A pale waxing moon hung right above the horizon, but its presence was diminished by the glory of the auroras.

But not even the beauty of the night sky could wipe away the memories of the dream she had just awaken from. She knew it now for more than a figment of her imagination. It had been real, just as the order to purge an entire village presumably corrupted by the Scourge had been real.

…and nothing could hurt as much as the utter horror and disgust on Taelan's face when she admitted it. He had just stepped back without a word and she knew in that very moment she had ceased to exist. He would look at her and see the wall beyond. After a few days she had requested a permanent transfer to Stratholme and never came back to Mardenholde.

Light, Taelan had been dead for months. But somehow the grief struck her anew as if she had just heard the horrible news. She hadn't been able to mourn back then, but now tears streamed freely down her face, the feeling of loss so intense she thought she would suffocate.

After a while the sobs subsided. It was stupid and largely useless to be crying, and anyway not even that fit of pitiful weakness could make her lose track of time. She scrubbed her eyes dry with the coat sleeve and bent again towards the tent flap, to take another look outside. The waxing moon had climbed almost a palm and a half over the mountain slopes and she judged it was the moment she had been expecting.

Despite the quite heavily patrols and guard posts around the camp, inside discipline was less than what it should have been. Everyone reeked of suspicion, but any man taken alone would not voice it out. It was too dangerous to do so, with a madman in charge.

They were four, Gavin and his friends, two young men and a lass, none of them older than twenty. She had them each gather a few things yesterday and arranged that they would _all _be on patrol tonight, except for Gavin. This would explain the saddled horses…She doubted five of them could pass unsuspected even considering the current atmosphere in the camp.

It was time, indeed. She had chosen not to carry much and it wouldn't have been the first time in her life she was left only with the shirt she wore. Full armor was what she regretted most, but she couldn't crawl around rattling like a sack of cans. Even the sword strapped to her back seemed unusually heavy as she squeezed out of the tent and made her way into the darkness towards the "prison area".

There were no fires lit so late at night, and no guards awake it seemed. Men lay under blankets and cloaks in front of the barracks, not deeply asleep yet not fully aware either. Now and then, one would stir, moaning or grunting and she stopped, listening intently. She couldn't figure out exactly _why _she wanted to do this. Maybe because the poor woman's story had snapped something inside of her. She didn't deserve her fate. None of them truly did, if it came to that. But choices laced each other, small decisions leading to other decisions, until there was no option left at all…

She had to pry a board from the back of the barrack, and it took her nearly ten minutes to do so. The wood was solid, the nails deeply driven in and all she had for a tool was her belt knife. Being a workman's daughter paid sometimes, Sev thought wryly. She could not remember her father without that onslaught of mixed feelings…love and admiration and maybe a little bit of uneasiness too… A stern man he had been and the best swordsmith in northern Lordaeron. The weapons he crafted had been coveted by the king's knights, and those paladins of the Silver Hand who preferred a sword over the ceremonial hammer. His skill was not surpassed by anything except for his faith in the Light, and the desire that one of his children would prove worthy enough to raise into the Order…

He had of course desired a son to carry on his name and become a paladin. But after giving birth to Lyssa and two subsequent miscarriages, their mother understood she would never be able to make that wish come true. So he had placed his hopes in his girls – after all women had started to be accepted into the Silver hand as well, if more reluctantly than boys. But Lyssa showed no inclination towards it – she had been instead apprenticed to a jewelcrafter as soon as she turned fourteen; father strongly believed in the virtues of honest work.

As for Sev, she remembered as if it were yesterday...

* * *

_"__Make me proud, he says, placing the sheathed sword on the table between them. __"She know how much you've wanted one ever since you were little…" He never shows such emotion as it is now painted on his otherwise stern features. __"Be strong. Have faith in the Light…"_

_She takes it reverently and slowly unsheathes the blade that catches the slanted rays of sun and reflects them back. It is beautiful indeed, perfection molded into steel, the strong hilt carved with the symbols of the Light fitting right into her palm. Tears fill her eyes while she tries a form or two, just to feel the sword's weight and balance. Her father's work is, as expected, impeccable –_

* * *

Her fingers found the edges of the wooden planks and she pulled, hoping she would not make too much noise.

Yes…there have been times when the Order was the only and encompassing presence in her life. The hard training left no time or will for anything else. Not for selfish desires, at any rate. Not for love.

A sudden stab of pain as memories spilled forward again like earlier in the tent. She chased them away furiously. She did not wish to remember, wonder what could have been had she made slightly different choices. Each small choice linked to the next, a never-ending chain…and there she was, kneeling on the hard, cold ground in the eerie Dragonblight night, making yet another decision that would change everything. She pulled the plank free and slid it to the left, so she could peer inside.

The poor woman lay face down, hands bound uncomfortably in the small of her back. She crept inside cautiously, half expecting her to give a start and maybe cry out, but she did not move, just lay there immobile like a bundle of rags.

They had gone harder on her after the events three days before, Sev thought barely able to repress a shudder.

"Are you awake?"

A small shift in the position of her head was the only sign the woman had heard her whisper. She lost no time, kneeling by her side and cutting the stout rope binding her arms and legs. She could feel her quiver under her hands.

"Please", she groaned. "Please, no more…"

"Shhhhh…"

Sev moved closer, dragging her upright. The woman couldn't sit. She cursed once more her near inability to properly use the Light for healing. Gavin had much more skill than her, even though she could wield more than he would have been able to. Closing her eyes she chased away all thought and focused on the familiar image of the empty vessel. She gathered the Light, filled herself to the brim with its glory…but then, instead of channeling it through the metal of her blade she wound it up in the flows of Healing. It fought her and Sev fought it back, warmth surging under her skin like a thousand small fires. The woman gasped and shuddered, obviously in pain. Healing came out painful when one lacked the skill, but at least it would knit back any broken bones or open wounds and she would be able to walk.

It left Sev drained and the woman not too much better. Pushing up on hands and knees, she struggled to stand on wobbling legs.

"What's your name?"

"Aleise", the woman whispered. She stood to, even if slower. Sev thought she was trying to see her, in the faint light coming from outside. "You it is…The Light bless you, I…"

"We're not safe yet", Sev pointed out sharply, motioning her towards the back of the barrack. She pulled out the extra cloak she had packed tightly and carried tucked in her own coat. "Put this on. We have to move fast…and be quiet."

"Yes", the woman nodded fervently. Sev could see how the hope of escape had wiped away the pain and weakness that had her sobbing in agony moments before.

Trusting that she would follow Sev crawled out of the barracks, with Aleise just behind. From the other side she heard snoring and mutters, as one of the guards shifted again uneasily in his blankets and she stopped, almost forgetting to breathe.

"That way."

Gavin and two others waited on the outskirts of the camp, under a small rocky outcrop. She had chosen it for a reason. A narrow, winding path descended along a treacherous slope. To the left, the unrelieved stone of the mountain, to the right an abrupt fall, more than one hundred yards deep. A man could defend that path easily even if outnumbered, at least for long enough to allow others to escape.

Two more horses were being led by the reins, saddled and ready. That had been Gavin's task, to sneak out with them from the picket lines. As they came up to them, he trotted forward, anxiety showing in his posture.

"Lian hasn't made it', he whispered. His voice quivered slightly, as he peeked over his shoulder to the riders behind them. The girl was already helping Aleise to climb in the saddle, behind her. "I am afraid he…"

The night grew aflame with the lights of torches even as he spoke, cries tearing apart the silence, like the howling of wolves.

"There they are!"

"Betrayal…!"

"…get them…get..'em!"

Sev barely had the time to shove Gavin away, pulling free from her belt the roll of parchments covered in writing she had been scribbling at for two days. New Hearthglen, and all the other Onslaught camps…and everything else she had been able to find out… She pressed it into his hand even as she urged him to mount and he instinctively obeyed. A price for everything. Well, she was going to find out just how high her bill rose.

"No", Gavin protested. He looked shocked to find himself already on horseback.

"Give'em to Dawnbringer and only to him", Sev said quietly. "Tell him I held my part of the bargain and I expect him to hold his. Now go!"

"We can't leave you here…"

"Go damn it!"

It was nearly a cry as she pulled her sword free from its scabbard and deflected the first blow aimed at her head. A circle of armed men was tightening around them, every second closer and she knew they were too many, she couldn't buy more than a few precious seconds…and like hell didn't want the stupid boy wasting them…

Time flew like honey, stretched into infinity - marked only by the hitching breath in her chest, the anxious pounding of her heart against her ribcage. She twisted aside, steel sliding along steel in a shower of sparks. Light shone along the blade as it met resistance at first, then sheathed itself into the flesh of the nearest attacker.

The sound of hooves told her they had started down the narrow slope. _A very narrow place _that was what she had chosen. Had she felt it would come to this? A path to be _held. _Brother against brother, doing the Scourge's work for them.

She pulled back, sliced again blindly, feeling the scent of blood drift into the air.

Somewhere in the circle around she noticed Lian's face, a half-scared grin spread on his features.

Nothing but betrayal, all around. Nothing but broken wows, hope lost…and the rattling of cold metal against metal, filling her ears like a song of death…

With a cry that had nothing human in it, she suddenly pulled her blade free and held it up, the light of torches gleaming on the carved hilt. The holy symbol seemed to burn into her palms for a moment – and then she threw the sword away, as far as she could, into the precipice on their right.

And there she stood, a slender unarmed woman facing them all, as if she were an impassable wall.

* * *

**A/N**: Well, yet another quite 'rough' bit. I've been writing in a hurry (I have some exams to pass for a professional qualification so I'm on study leave, so I should be studying, not writing fiction based on some silly video game :) ), and I didn't have the patience to make a thorough revision of this chapter, so I'll just post it as is.

I'm not really content with how it came out, I wanted more _emotion _put in the this particular chapter, which should represent a major turning point in character development. But I'm studying taxation atm and fiscal matters do not go well with emotion filled stories *laughs*

So yeah, this is it and if you feel it could be done better, drop me a line or two to help me sort it out.


	13. Darkness 1

"Damn it."

Eligor Dawnbringer's room in the Wintergarde Keep was small enough to barely accommodate a single visitor. Four other persons besides him made it feel hard to breathe.

The two women stood on the bed, keeping a prudent distance in between them. The elder one looked haggard, face drawn and eyes sunken in the back of her head. The younger still wore the colors of the Onslaught. She couldn't possibly have been older than eighteen, a pretty blue-eyed girl, hair severely braided and a hooded cloak draped over her shoulders.

The men – boys, really – were a different story. One of them had slumped into the room's single chair and remained there, his eyes betraying something very near to shock. Gavin on the other hand paced nervously the small distance between door and window, apparently ignoring the white bandage on his upper arm, where an arrow had taken him during their flight from the Onslaught camp.

"I should've stayed…should've fought…" He didn't speak to anyone in particular, the words just an outlet for his frustration. Eligor Dawnbringer sighed and adjusted his position, eyeing them in turn as he sat on the small writing desk, chin propped on his knee.

He hadn't figured out what he was supposed to do with them…not even if and how far they could be trusted. But he had given his word and the woman had held her part of the bargain - the papers Gavin brought had already been tucked safely in his chest - and now he had to find a way to hold his.

"Damn it", he repeated softly. Well, he could start by finding them something to eat and some spare blankets.

"We can't leave her there…" Gavin suddenly said. The elder man gave him a wry look. The notion had crossed his mind too, but he was seasoned enough to know wishes did not win any wars.

"And what exactly do you plan to do?"

"I don't know." The boy's eyes were feverish, but the admission didn't seem to lessen his determination. "But we must find a way, sir…We must…"

"I'll think about it', Dawnbringer promised.

"Think about it?" Gavin protested. Shock or no shock, he managed to sound outraged. "_**You must do something!"**_

He wished he didn't feel so much responsible for the woman's fate. She had come to offer him her help out of her own will, true. But he had forced her hand, knowing damn well she wouldn't betray the Onslaught for all the atrocities she had seen – not unless there was something else at stake…something she would consider herself responsible for. So he had promised to protect Gavin and his friends should they make it to Wintergarde.

_Don't try to wiggle your way out of it,_ he told firmly to himself. _The boy is right. You must._

But he only gave him half an indulgent smile, as he straightened and stood.

"I said _I will think _about it. Don't imagine that if this is not the Onslaught there are no rules. I expect you to listen when I say something and jump when I say jump. At least for the time being."

Gavin ground his teeth hard, but seemed to acknowledge the elder man's position. As for the others, they were just too stunned to be able to protest. Which was a relief, Dawnbringer thought. He didn't think he could take it.

Once they got rid of their uniforms and insignias, he could manage quite easily to find them beds in the barracks. Wintergarde defenses had been greatly weakened by the relentless attacks launched from Naxxramas and, although they couldn't probably stand toe to toe with the veterans of the Seventh Legion, they knew at least how to use a sword.

With the elder woman, Aleise, was a different story. She just needed food and sleep and a healer…and somehow he had to find her _damned_ husband to get her off his head. He had enough trouble as it were…a lot of it. As long as Wintergarde held, at least. Not easy with Naxxramas hovering over their heads, but it had to be done, _it would be done._ If they lost their foothold in the Dragonblight, the entire offensive against the gates of Icecrown would have been severely put at risk.

_Nonetheless, you cannot leave her there. _

Oh, how he hated the small voice in the back of his head - hated and cherished it at the same time, knowing that no matter how many sacrifices where required in this war, the day that voice became silent he would be lost as well and no better than any of the Lich King's minions.

* * *

_Light, please…no more…_

The Light doesn't care to hear me. The plate tipped boot connects once more with my ribs, painfully squeezing the air out of my lungs. I nearly wish it does for good, but instinct kicks in immediately and I fight for air, fight to breathe through clenched teeth.

Again.

It is impossible to say how many broken bones I have by now. It hurts everywhere, a deep, pulsating pain that only fades when I eventually lose my consciousness.

He rolls me onto my back and my arms ache under the weight of my body, bound as they are. And he smiles. Light, _he smiles. _Hatred rises like bile in my throat. If I would be granted one last wish it wouldn't be to walk free…not even to have this insufferable pain taken away…no, just the chance to pluck his eyes out with my bare hands.

"I told you we will enjoy some time together" he whispers. His voice is like a snake slithering over my skin, and I know what follows next as he starts unfastening his belt.

_Just let me die for once._

I don't know if it is really the Light I'm imploring now… I would pray to any power that be willing to listen and free me from this torment. Even the monster in Icecrown, if that's what it takes. There is **nothing** we wouldn't do, once pushed beyond our limits.

These scraps of lucid thoughts come to me unevenly, in between lots of mindless howling. I cannot hang onto them for too long and I have no will to do so.

He smiles again as he grounds his entire weight against me, his right hand gripping a handful of my hair and pulling my head back, the other forcing my thighs apart. Then suddenly he takes hold of my throat, cutting off the air even as he forces himself roughly into me. Pain and the lack of oxygen make my eyes water. _I want to die_ yet I cannot persuade my body to accept it. I struggle to breathe as he drives into me, knowing how he enjoys my helplessness. He releases me for a second and I gulp for air, trying to retain in my lungs as much as she possible, before he does it again…

_Make it end, make-it- endmakeitend…_

The world goes black once more, his fingers pressed into the sensitive flesh of my neck. All I can be aware of is the maddening pain. It burns my lungs, while each of his thrusts seems to tear me apart.

Yet he would not kill me, may he burn forever in the deepest pit of doom. We've already been many times through this game…how many I cannot tell, day and night have blurred beyond recognition. He would just bring me to the very edge of oblivion, then pull me back, make me suffer some more.

A small, pathetic squeak reaches my ears. And another. I cannot stop them, try as I might. He takes his hand away and all I know is I can breathe again, the relief momentarily drowning away the violence of his thrusts. He finds his release with a grunt – mercifully I am in so much pain I can barely feel his seed dripping over my thighs. The thought alone is enough to make me throw up. But it isn't over yet. He leans over me that _smile _still plastered on his face.

"You are going to scream for me, sweet", he says mildly. Almost as a lover's voice. I never had one. The stupidity of it strikes me now, through the many layers of agony. All I can focus on is the wish to carve his eyes out. I want him dead more than I want to die myself…

_Oh, yes, _the voice in the back of my head chitters. _Death comes for all of you. Death comes…_

_

* * *

  
_

The sky of Zul'drak seemed more ominous now than the last time he had been there. There was something in the air as well, a subtle smell not much more than a hint in places but it felt so familiar he thought he might throw up after all. A smell of rot.

A pity they had not managed to reach an agreement of sorts with the Drakkari trolls _before,_ Eligor Dawnbringer mused as he surveyed the land from the back of the gryphon, struggling to keep a hold of his flailing cloak and the reins of the trained beast at the same time. They could have proved valuable allies – and truth be told, the Argent Crusade, Alliance and Horde all together could use just any kind of help at the moment. The offensive against Angrath'ar did not progress very well, and neither did the attempts of Lord Fordring to the east. Their only supply and reinforcements hub was under siege by Naxxramas. Troubling news piled up from the distant Howling Fjord to the east, of half giants in service to the Lich King.

No, the Scourge had been the first to move into Zul'Drak and now it was too late for anything than futile resistance. Several necropolises had been sighted floating over the land, but the true extent of the offensive was yet unknown. In the end only the empty pyramids would remain, climbing towards the sky and terraced hills leading to altars of gods doomed to fail their worshippers and succumb under the all-present corruption. Armies of undead trolls would march against the small outposts the Argent Crusade had managed to establish, then maybe just spill further to the south and west, into the wastes of Dragonblight or the green forests of the Grizzly Hills…

A small picket of tents appeared to his left and he shook away the brooding thoughts, reining in the gryphon and preparing to land. Signs of heated activity caught his attention as soon as he was low enough to distinguish figures, a continuous stream of men and shambling creatures rowing between the tents and a massive mound of steel and…

His breath hitched as he realized what exactly that was.

"So they can be brought down…" he murmured, absently patting the gryphon's back. It shuffled uneasily, disturbed no doubt by the same thing that made goose bumps show all over his skin. A death knight carrying a large bundle nearly knocked him down, and Dawnbringer had to step to the side to avoid her. She was slender and pretty even in her condition, if one could ignore the pale frigid skin.

"My, my if news don't travel fast" a rumbling voice came from behind and he started nearly out of his skin. "Came to grab a share of the loot or what?"

"Stefan". It cost him to keep his voice steady. The death knight's presence seemed to float ominously in the air as he approached, moving stealthily enough for someone carrying all that weight in saronite. The two men eyed each other cautiously. Few people were aware they were long time acquaintances, years before the Ebon Hand knights broke from the grasp of the Lich King, before even Stefan Vadu had become one of them…They had been young and rash and ready to charge on their own into an entire army of undead. Well, times had changed he thought as he proffered his gloved hand to the other. The death knight's grip could break bones. It always took a little bit of self control not to wince.

"I haven't heard of this", Dawnbringer said quietly. Were they truly _dismantling _the necropolis?

"So it's not the loot or the intelligence you're after", Vadu retorted. He didn't go through the trouble of lowering his voice. "Then what? You are always _after _something…"

It stung. And it was true at the same time. That didn't make it less painful, but he had swallowed worse comments before.

"I need your help, Stefan."

"_My _help?" The death knight cocked an eyebrow in mock surprise. His gaze remained surprisingly sharp though.

"Your help", Dawnbriger agreed. The hustle and bustle around continued, apparently undisturbed by his presence. More death knights passed carrying crates and bundles, and undead minions loaded all the same. There seemed to be a note of excitement all around the camp as the capture was sorted and evaluated. What could possibly be of more use against the Scourge than the Scourge's own weapons?

He gave the account as briefly as possible – even in life Stefan hadn't been one for bed time stories. The other listened silently, but his expression had turned into a scowl by the time Dawnbringer made his request, and he wasn't the only one scowling. Two other death knights, a man and a woman, both elves had joined them.

"I thought you liked to take matters into your own hands", Stefan Vadu commented after a while. Dawnbringer scoffed.

"I would. But there is too much else I have to do. I am sure the Onslaught had been raiding our supplies and killing Wintergarde patrols, yet I need yet to prove it. Wrymbane won't make a move against them until then. And who can blame him? He certainly doesn't require a second front to focus on with Naxxramas already on us. It's all hanging on a thread there, and I will not risk to make it worse by diving head first into a rescue mission which can result in an open conflict."

"So why not ask for the help of someone you consider expendable anyway…" Vadu mused, a hint of a smile twisting his lips. A smile to make one's blood chill.

"I didn't say that!"

"True. You didn't. What do you think, Saryel?"

The woman to his side smiled as well, not much more pleasantly in truth. Hands on her hips, she studied Dawnbringer with the mild interest she would have shown to a freshly raised ghoul. She wore enough jewelry to make a goblin banker cringe. A necklace set in rich blue diamonds, complete with earrings and heavy bracelets that climbed almost to her elbows, above the saronite wristguards. A low cut shirt exposed a sufficient amount of bosom to cause hypothermia in any living woman, given the temperatures.

"I think it's _cute_", she said lightly. The man at her shoulder growled instead, pushing away a long strand of white hair that the wind had blown into his face.

"I think it's stupid…A single man – woman's life is not worth the effort, where hundreds could die if Naxxramas launches a true offensive..." He shrugged. "I'll go."

"He thinks is stupid then volunteers for it…" Vadu muttered. "Fine. Just don't get yourself killed, Leyran. We need your skill so much you might not escape with that."

"You wouldn't dare…" The death knight shrugged again, shifting his focus to Dawnbringer, who had followed the exchange with increased uneasiness. "Scarlets you say?" He chuckled and it was not a pleasant sound at all. "I might find it entertaining."

Eligor Dawnbringer couldn't repress a shudder, as he nodded agreement with a pained grimace. He wondered what exactly the price for this bargain would be.

* * *

_I will not… _The words don't form themselves completely; only drift like mist behind closed eyelids.

It smells of dirt and sweat and char…and fresh blood.

_What do we do now, Lord Uther?_

_The fires would not abate. Even three full days after the slaughter they still roared towards the sky, the acrid smell of burning flesh wafting into the air for almost a mile around the city. Dark magic, people whispered. They had all seen the terror, the plague, the undead. Memories of her mother and sister like broken puppets, blood oozing from their torn necks flickered in Sev's mind but she stubbornly pushed them away._

_The graying paladin looked worn and tired, from the weight of the full battle armor as from everything else._

_What do we do now? The question came again and Uther shook his head, taking them all in, men and women gathered around him like around a last beacon of hope. It was all that remained of the Silver Hand now that some of the knights had chosen to leave with the prince towards the frozen shores of Northrend and some others, to follow Lady Jaina Proudmore as she lead away a handful of survivors._

_We fight, that's what we do! The voice was weary too, but it held strength. __We fight for this land, for the people that trust us with their lives… We fight, for the Light… _

_She had felt it then, a surge of emotion through her breast, despite the raw pain that clawed hungrily at her mind._

_I will not yield, she swore to herself. The Light shone with the promise of warmth, an embrace she knew she would never be far from. __I will not._

There was no one to hear and she had to clench her teeth to stop them from chattering. So cold. The darkness grew closer, thicker - a shroud. _I –will – not._


	14. Darkness 2

Even in the middle of the day, no one paid too much attention to Commander Rellion as he dragged the prisoner out of the cell, half holding her up so she could walk. He nodded away the guards, and they seemed rather happy to oblige. No one gazed for too long at his victim. Some of them would have gladly agreed to the old fashioned and _fast_ hanging. Everyone understood the need to torture prisoners to obtain information. But needless pain was...different. So they looked away as he passed, pretended not to see, not daring to interfere and maybe find themselves in the same situation all too soon.

The woman walked awkwardly, blinking often in the crude light reflected by the snow. Wearing just a torn and dirty shirt which came only half a palm over her thighs she soon started to quiver and tried to wrap her arms around her for a bit of warmth.

The spring was right behind the prison cells, a half filled dig in the ground. He pushed her in front of him and she stumbled, splashing into the icy water with a pitiful whimper. Then suddenly, coming behind her back, he pressed his hand in the nape of her neck, forcing her head under the water surface. The woman's arms flailed around desperately, as she tried to come out and breathe, but he held her there a little more, until he felt in her tensed muscles the small convulsions that announced suffocation. Only then he released his grip and watched her grinning as she coughed and frantically struggled to fill her lungs with air.

Still smiling, Adair Rellion abandoned his prey – she wasn't running anywhere too soon, and went a few steps aside to peer over the edge of the precipice. The mountain jutted out towards the sky, like a fang, its slope steep and covered in a thick layer of snow. Rocks dotted the bottom of the narrow valley beneath and a narrow path winded through it, heading east. The blizzard has ceased only minutes before, so it seemed and the snow looked anew, fresh and untouched.

Suddenly he realized he didn't hear anymore the woman's ragged breathing. And still, she was there as he turned, kneeling near the spring, her hair and shirt dripping with water. Watching him. He didn't know fear, of course, yet the stark determination in those pale green eyes made him feel a worming of snakes in his middle. It all took a second, not more – a fraction of a second. Something glowed around her and then, in a heartbeat, the woman threw herself forward, catching him out of balance. He wanted to scream a warning as they fell, but the shock of being flung over into the abyss under his feet turned the sound into a pathetic squeak. They rolled together down the slope like boulders, the woman's fingers clawing into his neck as they did, the snow barely enough to dampen the contact with the stony ground underneath.

Abruptly, the fall stopped. He lay on his back, nausea making his stomach lurch. The woman had landed on top of him, panting. The Light faded around her even as he tried to sit. Pain made him grunt, strangely unexpected, even if on a conscious level he knew he probably had more than one broken bone. His former victim stared him down in the eyes, her entire weight pressed against him. Normally, he should have been able to push her off, his frame being larger than hers and more powerful. Except his muscles wouldn't obey anymore. Panic bubbled inside his chest as he became aware of it. Gods, did that fall let him crippled? Would he die there, slowly and horribly, unknown by any living soul…The woman's gaze bore into him, sharp and unyielding like a drill. Her hands fumbled after something, what was it? – and then he groaned at the feeling of cold metal pressed against his skin. His own dagger.

"I've considered letting the wolves take care of it", the woman said calmly her expression grim as three days old death." Weird, she did not shiver despite being soaked in freezing water. "Then I thought I might pluck your eyes out before."

He gave a start, swallowing hard and trying to form words but they would not go past his constricted throat. His eyes bulged, mouth gaping soundlessly.

_Please…_

She stood over him, disgust warring anger in her gaze. "Maybe it's your turn to scream for me…"

In a fit of despair, Adair Rellion tried again to move, arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.  
He was going to die, he understood. He didn't want to. Abject fear took hold and he howled, struggling in vain to push her aside. The blade ran smoothly across the side of his neck, opening his carotid and the last thing he felt was the hot rush of blood, with each maddened beat of his straining heart…

Severinna put the knife aside and watched him die.

* * *

"It's been three days." Gavin's voice broke and he buried his face into his palms, squaring his shoulders as if expecting a blow. "She will not last much longer if we don't do something…Light, I should've…"

"I'm pretty tired of hearing what you should've done". The death knight craned his neck a little, enough to shot him one of those glares that could make shiver the bravest of men. Gavin didn't notice though, which was all for the best, since he refused to let himself impressed by it. He still couldn't come to terms with the situation. This man, or another like him, puppets of the Lich King and the Scourge had probably slaughtered his friends, and their families back in Havenshire. He could only wonder if he had done it as emotionlessly as he now studied the Onslaught camp through the looking glass.

It was as bad he couldn't help himself from speaking out loud his mind. After they had sailed north he had wowed not to care any longer. Not to love, not to lose, not to suffer. He would be cold as ice, unyielding as stone… But he could not hold on his wows for too long. His heart went out to the suffering, regardless of how hard he tried to steel his mind against such weakness_._ That poor woman hadn't been the first one whose torment he had tried to ease. Prisoners of the Onslaught never lasted too much, but even a small mercy, such as a glass of water could make their last hours bearable. He also knew one day he would get caught and what his fate would be then. And he accepted it, because no matter how much he hated the perversion that the Onslaught had become, he had no where to go, no place to call home.

_She _had challenged that. Changed it entirely. He'd known from the first moment _she_ thought the same as he did. Oh, she had snapped at him a couple of times, called him 'boy' and told him rather roughly to stop 'ogling'. But then, that night when he was discovered and she had stepped forward and took the flogging for him…it had been as his very soul was dragged to searing flame, melted and remade anew.

_It hadn't always been like this,_ she had told him afterwards. He had been surprised to find out she was so much older than him – old enough to have been raised during the last glorious years of Lordaeron and to take the first consecration wows in front of Uther the Lightbringer – Uther the Great.

She'd made him see the horrendous reality of what his life had become. She gave him a choice, another way to follow, one that did not lead into slaughter and madness. And what had he done? Ran like the coward he were, when he should have stayed and fought, when he should have…

"What's done is done, no less and no more", the death knight said absently and Gavin snapped out of his thoughts, almost panicked that – again – he had spoken out loud. _Did he? _"If we could just wash ourselves clean of our faults…" There was no emotion in that voice, only plain acknowledgement of a truth Gavin struggled yet with. "But we can't. The sea does not hold enough water for that, so stop _whining _for once and try to think…!"

Gavin forced down a grunt, but he thought he could sea reason in that. Even if the one lecturing him was a death knight. Crawling forward, he lay on his belly too, peering over the edge towards the tents that lay more than fifty feet below them.

"Tonight after dark", the death knight continued as plainly as before. Suddenly he shifted, pausing as he raised again the looking glass. There was a hint of motion around the barracks, as far as Gavin could see. A gust of chilling wind stirred out of nowhere and he had to take hold of his cloak to prevent it from flailing and maybe give away their position.

"What is it?"

The words that rolled from the other man's lips were in a language Gavin didn't understand but he could make out a curse. He backed away from the edge with the deadly gracefulness of a predator, despite the heavy armor that limited his movements, and then went back to his feet, all the time still staring down into the Onslaught Camp.

"What is it?" Panic crept on the edges of Gavin's voice as he imitated him. "What did you see? Is she…"

Again he broke and he had to make efforts to steady his ragged breathing. His gloved hands gripped the sides of his belt until they hurt. "Light, no…"

Dark mist coalesced around the other man's hand and Gavin could feel the odd presence forming itself in front of them, like a cry ripped from an unwilling throat. He gaped at the skeletal beast, its wings spread open and nearly stumbled as he tried to pull back.

The death knight gripped his upper arm though and yanked him forward.

"Move and, by the bones of Kel'huzad, keep your mouth shut!" For the second time in that day, Gavin found himself with little other option than to obey.

* * *

She wanted to run, but all she could do was crawl, one step at a time. Pain surged and faded with each move, searing her to the bone.

_How far..?_

No, definitely not far enough…

She heard steps. Voices. Closer, stronger. She fought the mist drifting into her mind, the carved hilt of the knife the only real thing in a shifting whirlwind of forms and color…

_Death comes, _the voice cackled again and she knew it true. _There is no need to fight. No escape…_

Still, she crawled.

"Light…"

The body lay grotesquely sprawled on the ground, head resting in a patch of crimson red snow. The slash that had cut his throat open was clean, but not the way in which his eyes had been plucked out. There was nothing neat in that. Gavin's stomach lurched and he clasped a hand over his mouth, struggling to keep himself from throwing up. The death knight didn't spare a second glance to Commander Rellion's corpse – he just side stepped it and followed the trail of blood that lead east.

He had seen them fall, tumble like boulders over the ledge. A fall like that would have knocked the senses out of the most resilient human. The Light must have truly protected her.

Of course, he did not believe in the Light, but his breath hitched a little when he distinguished the dark shape in the snow. The wind stirred again. A storm would come soon. He intended to find shelter before that.

The knife came up blindly as he bent towards her. Instinct made him grip her arm, snatching the blade out of her numb fingers. The woman's fist connected hard with the plate on his chest and she gasped. A fall of tangled red locks almost hid her face as she struggled desperately to break free from his grasp. Putting both his arms around her torso the death knight knelt in the snow, cradling her into an awkward embrace.

"Easy, sister", he whispered in her hair as she collapsed in a shuddering pile, her forehead leaning on his shoulder so close he could feel her ragged heartbeats, like the flailing of a caged bird.

"Light", Gavin mumbled again. He had finally caught up with them, but he didn't seem able to say anything else. Pulling off his fur lined cloak, the death knight wrapped it around the shoulders of the shivering woman. He didn't truly feel the cold anyway. Or rather, he was so deeply chilled it didn't matter.

"Did she…" The young man looked over his shoulder, uneasily. His face was ashen gray, stricken with horror. The expression of annoyance, forgotten for a second, crept back in the death knight's features.

"Oh, shut up!" he commanded sharply. He rose, lifting her with him, a feather-like weight. She had lost her consciousness, he thought, but surely she needed warmth and healing…There was no time to make their way to Wintergarde, but an outpost of the Argent Crusaders lay just a mile to the north…

_The Argent Crusade. _The death knight gave Gavin a wry look._ Of course, never a shortage of fools and lost causes, _he thought.


	15. Wind from the north

A/N: Finally managed to put this up, even though I don't feel very content about it. I've been on vacation and away from WoW and then got some measure of writer's block...Hopefully some Northrend questing would do wonders.

Anyway, feel free to comment/criticize.

P.S : Lyrics belong to **Within Temptation, It's the fear.** I used the breaks to separate them, since there was no other way to do it and italics I had already used to separate past dialogues from present ones. I know it looks fragmented but had no better idea *shrugs*

* * *

It suddenly came to me this morning I do not really believe in second chances.

A weird thought considering my current situation. But then, life's full of such oddities. I heard it once said that you can never predict the exact consequences of one's choices. I also heard that sometimes you have to do what it takes and pay the price.

Fairly enough. I avoided thinking about what had happened to me – some part of it was better left unsaid anyway, yet my broken ribs still ached dully – them and that unseen wound I had received atop Naxxanar. I wondered if it would ever heal.

* * *

_It waits for the day, I will let it out_

_To give it a reason, to give it its might_

_

* * *

_"Here", Gavin said, settling by my side and handing me a pewter mug filled with deep fragranced tea. "You shouldn't be sitting here in the cold".

I looked at him noticing again how young he looked, barely out of boyhood. Too young to be here, in this land that reeks of death.

"You shouldn't be telling me what to do." My voice came out dry but surprisingly steady. True he had been caring for me well over the past weeks, but it was high time someone set him to his place. No, it wasn't the fact he was young and inexperienced and me many years his elder. His friends, Kamira and Tion were also young and believed I had saved their lives _and _their souls without it bothering me so. But Gavin looked at me as if I were Light incarnate, and that hurt even worse. How could they ever know what a small measure of redemption my sacrifice was?

"_I put Aleise on a tuskarr boat headed for the Fjord. That's where her husband would be, something to do with the vrykul threat…"_

Dawnbringer looked ready to trip over his own feet with exhaustion, as if he hadn't had any decent sleep in days. I hadn't asked how he had been able to trace the poor woman's husband. His connections had been legendary long before he came to Northrend, and sometimes it was wiser not to know.

"_Gavin and his friends, they're welcome to take the oath of the Argent Crusade and lend a hand to the operation in Dragonblight." _

I had not inquired what the price for that had been either. Former Scarlet Crusaders were as likely to be accepted in the ranks of the Dawn without question as spring come to Icecrown. But then, that had been our bargain and I had paid my fair share.

"_As for you…you'd be welcomed as well. Your skill and experience are invaluable…"_

I winced at the memory, glad for the hot mug Gavin had brought, for the warmth that spread between my palms.

"_My oath has been made elsewhere and is biding to death…You know it damn well, Dawnbringer."

* * *

_

_I can no longer restrain it,  
My strength, it is fading  
I have to give in_

_

* * *

_I wished choices were simpler. But if wishes had been armies, the Scourge would have been defeated long ago.

"_One last thing", _Dawnbringer had said before taking his leave. He pulled the words out one by one, his expression tight. _"Back in Stratholme…Have you ever noticed anything strange about the Grand Crusader?"_

Except for the orders to massacre innocents? I had swallowed the words though. That had been my responsibility too. Dawnbringer looked as if he had bitten a mouthful of rotten fruit. _"The night when the Bastion fell…"_

"_A Scourge attack."_

"_True." _Again he weighted his words. _"And an incursion of the Dawn, to put an end to Saidan Dathrotan. We knew." _I was probably gaping. _"He was…gone, his body long possessed by one of the dreadlords we had thought dead by the Banshee's hand." _He exhaled softly, meeting my gaze eye to eye and not a thread of regret in it…_"Just that you know."_

_

* * *

__It's the fear,  
The fear of the dark  
It's growing inside of me_

_

* * *

_

No, choices weren't easy in the least. But that did not make them avoidable or less my responsibility.

"I will take the oath", Gavin suddenly stated, as if guessing my thoughts. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Lack of alternatives never makes for the best choices. I gave him a shrug. The wind bearing down on us from the north was cold and smelled of death. That wind was very much like my soul.


	16. Fight at the Argent Stand

"Incoming to the north-east, sir!"

"Southwards. About thirty lesser scourge and a necromancer…"

"Riflemen, line up and keep them away! We need at least one clear side if we are to make a retreat."

"Large group moving in from the west sir! We're being surrounded…!"

"Tell me something I don't know…! Everyone back to their positions now!"

The cacophony surrounding commander Falstaav rose again almost unbearable. The draenei commander's voice was booming even when he tried to keep his tone to a whisper, more so as he was shouting orders to the nearby Crusaders. Men and women moved around swiftly and efficiently, lining themselves behind the crude barricades that had been erected around the camp, apparently able to hold back the Scourge assault at every point. A constant stream of wounded came back in though, and the few medics worked without pause, healing the most severe wounds and patching the rest up with bandages. Soon only the dying would be lucky enough to be healed, Severinna thought. They had lasted for an hour already, but she doubted they could make it through another. She had had her fair share of losing battles before.

No, better not to think. She lashed almost blindly at the creature in front of her, the force of the blow making it fall with a growl. The blade came out leaking some sort of greenish fluid. Another undead replaced the first. They seemed to be growing out of nowhere, but she knew there had to be necromancers and cultists of the Damned behind the lesser Scourge lines, endlessly reanimating their minions with their dark magic and sending them back into fight.

She glanced sideways, noticing Gavin who was as busy cutting through the ghouls as she, then cast another appraising look over the battle field. An hour was an optimistic prospect, she decided grimly. Half at most.

"By the Naaru, hold them back! Hold them back!"

Throwing herself at yet another undead she let the Light that coursed through her blade and blood like a soothing balm engulf the ground beneath. The scourge shied away from it, and the one that fell started to sizzle in a most unpleasant way.

"Hold them back!"

Gavin's lips moved silently as he fought and she knew he was praying. It was never easy to accept death. Or to welcome it.

"…to the right, to the right they're breaking in!"

Suddenly she noticed the odd spark of something very close to her boot. Half the way through a deadly strike she scooped it up, holding the object so that she could see it better. A pendant it looked, made of a metal that appeared to be gold and covered in markings, all so small she could not decipher any of them. A fine thing and for a second she wondered where it could have come from – certainly not the mass of writhing Scourge around. Then she forgot about it, hastily dropping it in her pocket while she twisted to part a ghoul's head from its neck. It twitched still as it collapsed. She went on to the next. Useless to think you would die until it actually happened and then it wouldn't matter anyway.

Growls and shouts redoubled to the west as the Scourge there seemed to shy away from something yet unseen. There was no time to stand idly though – the Lich King minions rarely withdrew, even when outnumbered.

"Stand your ground!" Commander Falstaav yelled, his voice like crackling thunder over the sounds of battle. "We've got reinforcements, stand your ground, Crusaders!"

It was in truth as if a giant steam roller had crushed into the mass of undead, scattering them to all sides. Still hacking and slashing in a frenzy, Severinna risked a glance over her shoulder to see what was going on – She perceived the lurching motion as the nearest geist launched itself at her, claws searching for her throat. And then she was out of balance, tumbling on the stone paved ground on elbows and knees as the undead's grip connected not with flesh but hard steel. Its growl ceased abruptly_. _Struggling back to her feet, sword still in hand, Severinna met a death knight's cold blue gaze.

Shock made her swallow her words – shock and something else, a demanding memory tugging at the back of her mind. It came and vanished like thunder in a summer sky and then she was just facing a new wave of geists, side by side with him.

It didn't last long though. The offensive had been broken in more points than one – the necromancers fled or dead and without them finishing off the remaining undead became trivial work.

"Just in time and not a moment too early", the death knight commented casually, idly tracing the frost glowing runes carved into his blade. He wiped it clean on the cloak of a dead cultist then sheathed it. A trail of rotting flesh marked the path he had carved through the scourge, Severinna noticed eying him sideways. He was nothing close to the sheer bulk of Thassarian – the only other Ebon Blade death knight she _knew_, but then elves were never physically impressive. He wore however the same plated armor etched in odd carvings and wore it _lightly_ from the way in which he moved. Except for the frigid paleness of his skin and the drawn face he could pass for good looking. And then again, elves usually did.

"Could say so." She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, yet unable to break eye contact all the same. "Thought we were done this time."

"Wasn't far", he agreed. "We heard the…commotion." Pursing his lips he studied the field dotted with piles of corpses. Most of them Scourge, some of the defenders as well. _The Light have mercy of their souls and keep them sheltered"_, Severinna started by rote a wordless prayer, then abruptly stopped, somehow disconcerted by the death knight's frown.

"A full scale attack yet poorly organized", he concluded softly.

"Maybe we just got lucky". Sev shrugged again, yet she could see his point. Here, so close to Icecrown, the scourge was never _careless. _

"Maybe." His attention shifted to her and Severinna found herself intently studying his face, trying to recall a fleeting memory.

"We have met before."

It was a statement not a question and he smiled, not taken aback, only surprised.

"I didn't think you would be able to remember."

"Gavin mumbled something 'bout my rescue", she said evasively. "And Dawnbringer. You found me back there …"

"Something like that", the death knight agreed. He could still _feel_ that brief moment in which she had collapsed in his arms – a shivering, half unconscious weight. "I'm Leyran."

She gaped at him, unable to manage a casual answer, then gave herself an almost angry shake. Her nerves had been stretched to a very thin thread ever since recovering, but that was no excuse nonetheless. She could vaguely remember liking things plain and simple –rules and principles she could trust in. Well, that had been long time before. Could have been in another life for all it mattered now.

"Thank you". Somehow she managed not to sound hoarse. She could also remember wanting to get the world rid of the creatures like him. That too had been a long time before. Her fingers found a solid object in her pocket and she snatched it out, twisting it nervously. "You've just saved my life again." And then suddenly he stood closer than she could feel comfortable with, his gauntleted fist closing on her hand.

"Let me see that…"

Instinctively, Sev tried to pull her hand away but she could have as well ripped it from the shoulder. His grip on her wrist was iron and it hurt. Not that she cared about pain, but she wouldn't be manhandled, not by one such as him at any rate. She opened her mouth to say exactly that and stopped, only then becoming aware of Leyran's concerned frown.

"Found it…" she said briskly, instead of the words crowding on her tongue. Now come to think of it, she had thought the beautifully carved pendant odd the moment she had picked it up. "It just lay around here…" The death knight's mouth twisted as with some foul taste, obviously unaware that he was holding her so tight. Not until Sev's other fist connected hard with his chestplate, in an attempt to pull herself free. The impact of the blow nearly made her teeth rattle. It took all strength of will not to cry out. Leyran blinked in surprise as if he had completely forgotten of her presence, then became aware of her struggle. He released her and Sev staggered back, massaging her wrist. A large bluish bruise already stood out where his fingers had pressed into her flesh.

"I'm sorry." There was not much regret in his voice though. He held the glowing pendant up carefully as if it might just explode in his face. "A very, very vile thing this one…"

She felt a sudden urge to snatch it back from him. Taking hold of herself in mid gesture she realized he was true. She _wanted_ that pendant back. _Needed_ it more like it.

"What is it?" This time the words came out ragged and she didn't care. He cast a last long look at the object dangling on its silvery cord, then tucked it away in his pocket.

"Oh, a present from the Scourge", he said almost casually. It was his tone that was so unnerving Sev understood. Soft. It simply didn't match the rest. "Do you want it back?"

"Yes!...no…!" She shook her head trying to clear her mind. "Something tells me I shouldn't even touch it. Yet I _want _it."

"Fascinating", he whispered. Sev wasn't sure what he meant. "Never seen the likes of it before. I need to study it closer." He sounded as preoccupied as a dwarven explorer cataloguing a collection of relics. "So strong, so soon…"

"What in the name of…Never mind." She gave herself another shake and took a couple of steps back. The woman must have had nerves of steel he thought wryly. "I'd better give a hand to the cleaning."

Indeed, he observed glancing around, Commander Falstaav hadn't lost any time to set everyone back to work. There were barricades to be patched and dead to be buried. Some of the Crusaders, all without exception with sour faces, had already started dragging away the nearest undead, piling them up to the north of the camp. A good fire would make short work of the rotting flesh. The death knights that had come with him from the Ebon Watch had spread around the encampment, scouting for any signs of remaining undead. They should be indeed getting on with their business, Leyran thought. But the scourge wanted this woman. The thing in his cloak pocket was proof enough. Even through layers of saronite and clothing he could _feel _it pulsing angrily. And she was strong, with a will to survive. Maybe _someone _wanted her badly enough to set up a full scale attack just to plant the _monstrosity _he now held. The magic within beat in rhythm with his heart as if it had a life of its own.

None of his business, of course, nothing to do with the fact he had saved her life once –twice counting today. A severed carotid was sure death. But the enemy had laid down plans it seemed and ignorance was not the best way to go around about it. The _enemy. _How odd to think only month before he had been that enemy. He was not angry about it. It was a feeling all too common among the knights of the Ebon Blade, many of whom had died first time fighting against the Scourge in the Plaguelands all elsewhere. Brought back to eternal torment, made to serve and then betrayed. Anger was an understatement. He felt none of it though. Sometimes he just regretted the numbness, the will of the Master resonating in his skull to loud to actually be able to _think _ about anything else. Especially the memories. Memories were a bad thing. Almost worse as what he had now in his pocket…

He took hold on himself, forcing his mind to wrap only around the present facts. Everything else was an unnecessary distraction .

"Wait" he called and wasn't aware he would speak until he heard the sound of his own voice. The woman stopped, rounding back on him. She must have been pretty once, maybe even beautiful. Leyran noticed absently. But no one would have said that now about a woman with such eyes. Pale green eyes cold like winter's heart and a gaze as sharp as a dagger thrust through a man's heart.

"There is more…" A part of him laughed hysterically as he tried to find words that would not make her break into a run. Truth be said in some cases, hysteria seemed to be a fitting state of mind.


	17. Crossroads

_"__Are you sure?"_

"Of course I am!"

Leyran sounded tired and irritated, more so than usual. The woman sitting at the other end of the table, her knee bent against her chest and chin propped on the back of her hand sniffed. For one quite _dead,_ Saryel Frostblade surely wore a lot of jewelry and her clothes were made of the finest silk available in Dalaran. Merchants might wrinkle their noses in the back of such customers, but gold was gold nonetheless, regardless of the purse it came from. Or rather a generous account in a goblin bank.

Obviously, Saryel Frostblade wasn't her real name, but her noble and still wealthy relatives in Silvermoon had enough trouble those days with a son and a nephew who had supported Prince Kael'thas not to need a death knight on their doorstep. It was bad reputation and she had managed to extort them a considerable amount of money in exchange for the promise that she would leave and never return. If their less than warm receipt had hurt her, the woman had never shown it, Leyran thought. She was one of the few to actually _enjoy _being free and able to do whatever she wished. And with all the jewelry and fine silks, she could very well spill one's guts without the slightest remorse.

"The last thing I need is the two of you starting a fight…!" Stefan Vadu put it in a very no-nonsense tone. He cast another glance at the apparently innocuous object laying on the table, then rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "We must be certain", he added after a while. Leyran's head snapped towards him, his expression tight as if he had swallowed a mouthful of rotten apple.

"I am as sure as if I had made it", he said quietly. "The magic is different…yet the purpose remains the same. Had she worn it, even for a few hours, it would have drained her life force and twisted her will to the Scourge."

"I don't see what importance…" Saryel begun, and then cut off abruptly, at a glare from Stefan Vadu. Pursing her lips she pretended just to study the necklace on the table, as if unsure such a small item could indeed do what Leyran had said.

"And you are convinced it was meant for this woman?"

"How many times do I have to –" Taking rein of his irritation Leyran bit back the outburst. Stefan Vadu's gaze held him as levelly as he had done with Saryel only moments before, enough to make anyone consider his words before speaking. Open confrontations among the knights of the Ebon Blade were not something unheard of and while they did not usually result in killing – at least in recent times - they could be _painful. _The service of the Lich King was definitely not a place to learn tolerance and everyone's nerves were just too wind up. Including his own. If the other man didn't cease soon to glare so…

"I am certain."

"We could use this to our advantage". He tapped a finger against his lips and then grinned wickedly. "Pretend the bait reached its target. Someone on the inside, here in Zul'Drak, could prove invaluable for us in sabotaging the entire operation."

"You cannot just dress up that woman and walk her to the closest necropolis saying she is Scourge!" Saryel intervened. She sounded mildly contemptuous of Stefan's idea. But then she was right, Leyran admitted. Beyond just flesh and bone the Scourge was truly a web of interconnected consciousnesses. Some were no more than a spark, while others were fully aware, like death knights and necromancers – yet they were part of it without exception. The Lich King's dark gift of magic worked that way – and even as they stood there talking it took conscious effort to shut out the constant hum of voices and images.

Leyran winced. A moment of weakness and _He _could be reaching out for them once again -

No, there was surely no way to _pretend _that and anyone smarter than an abomination could unmask the treachery…

"Definitely not", Stefan said with a shrug that dismissed Saryel's objection without further thought. "But I am sure Leyran can come up with something…creative…"

He started at the mention of his name, as if he hadn't been following their conversation. Oh, there were possibilities. Risky ones too. Maybe too much so.

"She must make her own decision", Saryel pointed and for all she had spoken quietly Stefan glared again. Maybe he had forgotten that little detail – or maybe not, how could he when free will was the thing everyone around held the most sacred those days? Maybe he had just chosen to ignore it and coldly considered the possibility of using their 'guest' for bait as a lamb to the slaughter, no questions asked and no answers given. Despicable as that were, the three of them had done far worse things before anyway.

And even if the woman knew the truth, how could anyone ever weigh such options at their right cost until it was too late?

"…are you going to keep day dreaming, Leyran?"

He made an effort to focus on Stefan's words. Saryel had shifted her position and now she stood hugging both her knees and absently fingering one of her necklaces. Moonstones set in gold he decided after a second and worth enough to buy a small farm somewhere in the borderlands of Quel'Thalas. In better times at least. These days the land lay barren and quiet, poisoned by the Scourge. His home…Pain surged like a needle thrust through his heart. Maybe he held no anger, but pain was impossible to ignore at times.

"I'm not…" He frowned at the thing on the table as if wishing it to disappear. It did not, of course. That would have been too easy.

"It can be done", he said evasively. He did not want to think about it, but his mind worked, bringing forward bits and pieces that fell into their place, until he knew exactly _how. _Realization did nothing to lighten his mood though. "But Saryel's right, Stefan. The damned woman's getting to choose."

* * *

Blankets were too little to keep one warm in the humid cold of Zul'drak, Severinna thought bitterly, shifting for the hundred time in search of a better position. She was dead tired but sleep eluded her. She wondered who in her place would have felt comfortable to fall asleep and then chased away the thought firmly.

The Ebon Watch was an even smaller encampment than the Argent Stand and definitely much more lacking in the comforts of life. It consisted of a handful of draughty tents whose only purpose was to provide a modicum of shelter, their inhabitants not in the least disturbed by the cold. Their _condition _had advantages in this case, Severinna thought with a cringe, yet she was very much alive and shivering. For the hundred time she tried to figure out how she had allowed herself to be dragged into this – let aside Leyran's suppositions about the pendant she had found. A vile thing of magic, he had said, that could turn a living being into one of the undead in a matter of hours. The scourge would stop at nothing once they had a target. But it was still hard to believe _she _could be the target they sought. She was nothing more than a broken, purposeless shell, with nothing left to fight for…

The Ebon Hand knights had inspected her curiously yet without emotion. Not many of the living chose to spend a night in their camp if it could be avoided. Not many of the living were eager to deal with a death knight for that matter. Oh, her stomach twisted every time she thought about it too, but then she had no other place to fit in better, either. It was ironic to think how much she was _like them _in a way – how she…

No. Grinding her teeth she pushed that away too. Self pity was a disgusting waste of time.

"You should really be getting some sleep."

She started, sitting halfway up before she realized he hadn't come in. The sound of that voice still unnerved her, too soft for the man it belonged to.

"I am not tired", Severinna lied. "Why, it is no concern of yours anyway."

She wished she didn't sound so much on the verge of breakdown, but there was nothing she could do about it either.

"As you say", he conceded lightly. He still didn't come in, but from the sounds she could tell he had seated himself in front of the tent. Did he sigh? "We are certain the Scourge has targeted you." A pause followed and Severinna shifted further, on her knees, peering intently towards the tent opening. "Stefan came up with a plan, to use your…hmph…help, to gather information about their plans in Zul'Drak. Sabotage them if we may."

"My…help?" She tilted her head to the side, considering. There had been a hesitation in his voice.

"You are free to leave if you refuse. Of course, you will have to look over your shoulder from now on. I doubt this will be the only attempt…"

"And if I stay?" She wasn't going to say that, but the words came out nonetheless. Clasping a hand over her mouth, she could barely repress a squeak of surprise.

"We hope you can infiltrate among the Scourge ranks…" That didn't sound warming and he had no intention of making it to. "But it's not enough to pretend", he added. Soft as it were, that voice could chill a grave, Sev thought."There are means to make you…fit into the picture, to say so, but I won't lie, there will be changes as well."

"Changes…"

It hadn't really been a question, Leyran noticed. More of a resigned statement. Stefan be damned, he would not go lightly over it. She had a choice, more than any of them had had at the time.

"The magic required to make you _seem _one of us will most likely have irreversible effects. And while you are at it, you will need a very strong mind to resist even for an hour…"

"Right". Again she felt the urge to cover her mouth just to keep the words in. She stared at her own hands, placed on her knees. Of course, she could go back to the Argent Stand and cut down some more Scourge. In the long run that would make no difference. Sabotaging their enemy from the inside on the other hand might tilt the balance. Might.

_Risks that cannot be completely avoided must be assumed. Sometimes there is no other way than to go straight about them, even knowing there would be casualties. _

A flicker of memory from her training days, she was sure. She could not remember if she had read it in a book or if they were someone's words. Not all of the aspiring knights paid attention to strategy and tactics lessons, but she had, very much so. There was no better thing to do when you were a woman and came short of physical strength in front of most men. Skill, not brute force made the best sword masters.

And then there was nothing left of her life anyway. Not that much to be worth worrying about. Her fingers felt in the darkness for the mark above her left breast. There and in her heart the crimson "L" was not the symbol of the tainted Crusade. It was just the reminder of her oaths.

"Then come here and tell me more of this plan", she said, almost surprised to find her voice steady despite the worming of snakes in her midriff. Leyran was surprised too. He was just thinking that, in her place, he would have chosen to run as far as possible. Maybe to somewhere where the Scourge was just a bad dream, a rumor from far away. But then if they all did so, maybe such a place wouldn't exist for long to be sure…

The woman however reeked with anger. White hot flaring anger. Others might be deceived by the icy calmness she managed to put up, yet she could not hide it from him. He had always been sensitive to other people's feelings and moods and the dark gift had amplified the empathy, turning it into a real sight. He would have to warn her about harboring so much resentment so close to Icecrown though. It made really good fuel for Arthas' plans…


	18. The long journey: Rebirth

The undead creatures worming in the toxic fields below Voltarus, the spearhead of the Lich King's offensive in Zul'drak, now that its sister necropolis Zeramas had been taken down by the Ebon Blade, did not pause even for a second as the death knight passed.

A woman in her middle years or so she seemed – and of small importance that was now – she wore a battered armor that had seen better days. Mud caked the plated saronite as well as the tangled locks of her auburn hair and smudges of soot and dirt covered her face. A silver worked necklace, completely out of place with all the rest, circled her neck, half covered by the collar of a once –white shirt. Without paying heed to the swarm of undead she climbed the flight of stairs leading towards the necropolis landing and stared up at the ominous fortress.

For a second it was silence. Then, suddenly, a sickly greenish light washed over her and she was gone.

* * *

_**(The Ebon Watch, four days before)**_

Headaches were never pleasant, even when you were dead. Or not quite so. The paradox always struck him as a fresh thing, that he could not remember dying after all.

The wind was harsh as it blew past the camp and the low pitched tents. A wind like bad omens, smelling of plague and rot. Try as he might, he could not get rid of that scent, as he could not shed away the cold seared in his bones. It was a common misconception of the living that a death knight did not _feel_. If anything, all his perceptions had grown stronger and more refined, the only mercy being the ability to nearly ignore them. But ignoring the cold fell short from not being aware of it. He longed for warmth, whether to bathe in the sun or just sit in front of a hearth fire. And his head hurt. He put that away with the coldness and the smell brought by the wind and focused back on the job at hand.

The sword was perfect he thought, balanced and sharp yet slim enough for a woman's hand. Carefully etched runes covered half of it already, two of them catching the eye near the base of the hilt and close to the tip of the blade. It was a tiring and difficult work, each of them having to be set just so in the dark saronite, so that the flows of energy and magic could be woven together.

The forging of runes was something most death knights had learned at one point, yet few did truly master the complexity of the magic involved. Leyran grimaced. He would have barely dared craft something like this particular blade in the forges of Icecrown, let aside on a makeshift workbench in a makeshift tent in the middle of nowhere. At least Saryel had gotten bored after an hour and went on a reconnaissance mission to scout the necropolis to the north. She kept giving him the rough edge of her tongue, somehow trying to make him responsible Stefan's and Severinna's decisions. Her relentless remarks had started to grate on his nerves like a sharpening stone on the dullest of weapons.

As for Stefan and anyone else, they knew better than to bother him while working. Which left only the woman sitting in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. A pretense, for he knew she was watching his hands intently then looked away each time his gaze came to rest on her face. The sharpness in her eyes was still there and depths of anger broiled just under a seemingly placid attitude. She had been through hell all to recently for the memory to wane. In her place, he would have been angry too.

The death knight grimaced as the wind gusted again into the tent, fanning the enchanting instruments placed on the table and his hair, loosely tied to the back of his head. Other than that he seemed oblivious to the cold that permeated Sev's body to the marrow. She didn't have much to wear anyway, just a weathered woolen cloak pulled over a shirt and a rough dark coat. Pushing herself up she took a couple of steps toward the table to peer at his work. The sword looked...frightening. She didn't think she could bring herself to touch it. But then there were a lot of things she hadn't thought herself able to do before.

"Why did you stay?" he suddenly asked. His hands never ceased their movements and he didn't look up. There was no breath misting the air in front of his face she realized. Suddenly she felt even colder.

"I have nowhere to go…" she said in earnest. Realization hurt. She didn't think she had reached acceptance yet. Back at the Argent Stand, Gavin had opposed her decision as strongly as he dared, yet she had paid him no heed. It was her decision to make and she was done with doubt. Oh, she was done with a lot many things. The boy should've gone elsewhere, find a lass, build a home. Even with a war going on, you had to keep living.

"Why not go…home", Leyran said and she nearly started out of her skin, his words an echo of her own thoughts.

"There is no home", Sev stated quietly. Light, but it hurt. "I've been a soldier for too long."

"This will make you a _part _of the Scourge, in a sense". He nodded towards the blade, finishing yet another of the complicated rune designs. "You will _hear _them and _feel _them. I am still not sure how anyone can stand that up and not go mad. I'm not even sure why anyone might want to go though that even for once. Stefan's gone off track with this completely."

"How was it?"

It was the same question she had asked Thassarian after Naxxanar. The same question she was trying to answer herself ever since Dawnbringer had revealed to her the truth about Lord Commander Dathrotan. There had been periods during the last months in Hearthglen and then Stratholme when she could not remember what she had been doing at night, come morning. Blackouts she could not explain, headaches and nausea. Maybe her will had not been her own the entire time, as she had thought. But it was too easy to hunt for excuses, a trap she did not want to fall into. Whether one of the Nathrezim had somehow mind controlled her to do it all, it didn't matter now. The memories, the remorse were hers and hers only. Although she would have greatly enjoyed to be among those who had sent said demon back into the nether he belonged to.

"Weird. It still is". For the first time he met her gaze, stopping his crafting for a second. An angular and pale face, who had been beautiful once, the way all elves seemed at least to mortal eyes, but now was drawn and weary. "Sometimes I miss _His _voice in my head. It made things much simpler. The difference between us is that you may still go, while for the rest of us matters have already been settled."

"Some are trying", Sev murmured. He grimaced again, his eyes cold and sharp, fixed on her face.

"Like that fool whose wife you saved from the Onslaught? What did he give her in return for her love and devotion? Torture and suffering…?" Even without raising his tone, he invested the words with the deepest scorn.

"Why are you doing this if you think Stefan's plan is madness?"

She had nearly managed to catch him off guard, jumping from one topic to another. He had to repress the impulse to work his jaw to make sure he wasn't gaping. Maybe she really was trying to get to him, but he hadn't lost his wits alongside with everything else, to fall for such attempts.

"Because 'tis what I do.", he managed smoothly. "I've been a craftsman and a tradesman all my life. I sold enchants back in Quel'Thalas. It's the same now. Stefan came up with the idea, you accepted and I'm just doing my part. Which I'd do better if you bloody stopped talking."

"Don't push it", she muttered. Surprisingly, Leyran smirked. In that bloodless face it was not a pleasant expression though. He would have gladly had Saryel back with her comments rather than trying to dodge Severinna's questions. Oh, they were dead and that was it. Yet somewhere within himself the magic that had been part of him beat in rhythm with the land under their feet, strong ley lines converging not to Icecrown but to the south now -

"It all lays upon your shoulders", he said grimly. "How strong you are. How much you can resist. I worked containment magics into this but that would not make it less a _runeblade_, only slightly less hungry for your soul. Such a sword attaches itself to her owner, slowly consuming his soul while feeding on the life of his victims. Sooner or later you become one with her and as much her slave as she is your weapon. Stefan's plan _is madness _for it rests upon two things – my ability to create a weapon that would not kill you too soon and your strength to resist it." He drew in a sharp breath as if unbelieving he could have launched into such a tirade, then massaged his forehead. His hands were nothing she would have expected, Sev thought, slim and delicate, almost hard to imagine on a sword hilt. "Which are both flawed", he added like an afterthought and she blinked, finding it hard to focus on what he had said before. Oh, her strength…

Pain edged back into her awareness – so many kinds of it: the dull ache of the wound that wouldn't heal, the feeling of loss, the sense of betrayal. She bit her under lip to the taste of blood. Sometimes pain was so strong it could tear you apart in the blink of an eye unless you managed to control it. Sometimes pain was everything you had to prove you were still alive.

"I guess I'll have to be as strong as it takes", she said and was awed to notice the grimness in her tone almost matched his. A fool woman she was. She had not been anywhere as strong as needed back there in Stratholme. Maybe then she would have avoided all the unnecessary deaths. A terrible fool. Only weeks before, in the hands of Adair Rellion she had _known _herself ready to do anything just to put an end to the torment. That pain burned inside of her each time she remembered – agony, and humiliation and helplessness. Anything at all if it meant it would end. Anything at all if she got to make him feel the same, even for the briefest of moments. The weight on her shoulders became a boulder, a mountain. _As strong as it takes._

She bent over the table to take a closer look at the rune-etched blade. The dark metal seemed to be eating up the light of the day. No, she could not imagine herself touching it, holding it… The weight was crushing. Lifting her head she met Leyran's gaze, emotionless and calm. "As strong as it takes."

* * *

_**(The Ebon Watch, three days before)**_

"Is there no way I can talk you out of this madness?"

"No."

The sharpness of the answer made Gavin wince and pull his cloak tighter against his shoulders. Light but it was cold, and standing among so many _monstrosities _did not help improve his sour mood. It seemed to him that in the time they had spent apart – a week, really, no more – she had grown harder, like a rock standing amidst the currents of a turbulent river. Only a week before he had thought that impossible, she was hard enough already. She never spoke of whatever had happened during her captivity, but he already knew what Adair Rellion had been capable of. She never spoke of what she had done to the man either. Too hard, he thought bitterly. He had thought her a strong woman when they first met, but inexperienced as he were he could sense the difference between just being strong and being desperate. Even despair felt cold in her now.

As they stood she was as tall as him, hair properly brushed and tied back away from her face, clothing mended as well as possible in that wilderness. She wasn't skilled with the needle he guessed, but then everyone spending so much time in the Plaguelands, away from civilization, had had to learn the rudiments of tailoring.

"What if it is a trap? How do you know these creatures of darkness can be trusted?"

"You're saying things by rote, Gavin" Severinna scolded him coolly. "Don't be so short sighted."

He wanted to scream back that she were the same. What else had they been if not short sighted idiots who had let themselves dragged to this land of death by a set of false ideals?

"I don't want you to risk your life again", he said instead. It was an effort to keep his voice steady, being aware of how his cheeks burned. He wanted to blurt it all out, what he felt, but the level gaze of the woman in front of him made him rather consider swallowing his tongue.

"Spare your breath. I have already made up my mind." Surely she did not expect him to grow quiet and walk away. He ground his teeth hard, fingering the hilt of the curved knife tucked behind his stout leather blade.

"I love you", he managed. If it came out breathlessly, that was it. He barely dared meet her eyes once more, for fear of what he would read there. But whatever he expected, it was not grim amusement. A geist passed by, scrambling on all four limbs and Gavin stepped aside instinctively. Light, that place made him feel soiled to the bone.

"Gavin."

He stared stubbornly at the tip of his boots. Something nearly compelled him to raise his eyes to the finger she had lifted almost threateningly. She looked…tired. Not physical exhaustion, but rather the mental weariness of someone who had fought for a long time – against herself, against others.

"I do love you!" he insisted nervously. It had suddenly crossed his mind she might believe it a whim. His arms went for her before Severinna had time to react, drawing her in a much too tight embrace. He wanted to crush her, never let go again. And for a second he thought she might acquiesce, melting into his grip, her breathing erratic against his neck as he brought his hands to roam in her hair. Another ghoul crawled by, spluttering mud all around, and this once Gavin did not notice. The spot they were in was secluded, far enough from the camp so that no more than their shadows could be distinguished in the foggy dusk light.

Sev gave a start as Gavin's arms closed around her shoulders possessively. She could feel the shiver running through his body and then his voice, hoarse and low, whispering in her hair.

"I've dreamed about this every night…"

His lips came down on hers hungrily and for a second she lost her head, allowing the passion in Gavin's kiss to sweep her away.

"Gavin, don't…"

Her own throat felt raw as she forced the words out. She put a hand on his chest, slowly but patiently untangling his hands from her hair.

"I love you…Sev, please…I love you so much…"

"I said _no…"_ Drawing in a deep breath, Severinna schooled her voice to indifference. "You should go back to the Stand, Gavin."

Even in the falling darkness she could perceive the pain oozing from him like blood from a deep cut wound. She hardened her tone. "Now."

"Don't…" he begged. "I love you, Sev…I do…Just don't send me away…"

"I said you leave now, Gavin." She felt proud her voice was so steady. No, not steady- neat and calm, so much in contrast with the roaring flames in his eyes. "And we don't _ever _talk about this again."

"Light", he groaned miserably. He released her and finally stepped back, looking as unhappy as she had thought he would. In the pale light his face seemed almost disfigured by suffering. She wanted to tell herself the boy would get some good sleep and forget everything by the morning, but she knew damn well it would have been a lie. Inexperienced as she was with men, she had seen it coming for weeks and did nothing to change his mind until then.

"_What are you afraid of, Sev?" Taelan's smile was thoughtful, the moon casting shadows on his strong features, the red and white of his coat. "Sometimes I think you're running from anything that could deter you from the fight, be it for a little." He propped his elbows on the parapet and smiled again, amusement showing in his eyes. "Wows of chastity have long ceased to be considered, even by the hardiest clerics…"_

_She wanted to hit him. And she wanted to kiss him, all the same. _

"Will you not change your mind?"

Gavin's question sounded…final. It took a huge amount of will to nod. And again she was proud she could do it.

He turned around, cloak billowing in the wind as he strode away purposefully. Suddenly she was alone, the immensity of the whispering land around her wanting to crush her like moat stones. She hugged herself tightly trying to repress the rippling sobs building in her throat. Whatever she said, her body screamed for release, for the warmth and caress of a man. But she could not do this to Gavin. She cared for him, true – loved him in a sense, the little brother she had never had. and the last thing she would do was gift him with the woman she had become.

The wind rose and fell, turned into a drizzle, seeping into her body like the touch of death and still she could not make herself move. A warm trickle ran down her cheek and her numb mind recorded the taste of tears...

Hands settled on her shoulders – firm, not gentle and she started again - why hadn't she heard the sound of steps? If it had been a Scourge scout she would be dead. And maybe dead was better for all she could bring herself to care.

She recognized him before he turned her around. There was a scowl on Leyran's face, but not even that could put an end to the tears flowing down her cheeks, no matter how she tried to wipe them away, frantically…

"You'll get a cold if you stand in the rain", he said evenly and all Sev could do was gape at him. For a second none of them spoke. Leyran's expression was unreadable, except for that dark scowl but then he scowled at everything and everyone. "The boy's right", he added like an after thought. So much for her hopes he hadn't heard anything. "It is not too late to step what you're losing." The last word came out barely in a whisper.

"I have made my choice", she put in. It was hard to seem dignified wiping tears from her eyes but she managed quite well, Leyran thought. The woman must have been stone inside.

"Then go back and change into something dry", he muttered. Rain had started more heavily as they spoke, splashing on his armor and trickling down under his shirt. He hadn't pneumonia to fear, yet the sensation was decidedly uncomfortable. "You're not going to serve any purpose dead".

Bitter as it was, Sev had to agree.

* * *

_**(The Ebon Watch, two days before)**_

"You don't have to look calm", Leyran pointed out sharply. "Don't even try to pretend it. People in your situation most likely want to tear the world apart with their bare hands."

"Will no one wonder why I cannot…use the magic?"

"Not in the beginning", Saryel intervened. "The dark gift isn't easy to master. It takes time and patience…They would feel your _presence _ and for most of the Scourge that should suffice. Their leadership is another matter…"

"Just try an keep low, really",Stefan Vadu added on top of her The three death knights formed a rather weird circle around her, Stefan heavy built and muscular, a towering figure, Saryel with a colorful silk kerchief around her neck and wrists covered in gemmed bracelets, Leyran slender and pale. He was also the only one avoiding to look at her, Severinna thought. Oh, she wasn't much past the gut twisting feeling in their presence, yet she tried to convince herself she should trust them. If she didn't she was lost anyway. So she listened as they spoke, sometimes all at the same time, glares and snorts being exchanged as much as words.

It was Saryel who, wearing the most dissatisfied expression, kept pouring information on the inner layout of a necropolis and the likely scourge command organization. So much intel would have been a wealth only five months before, in the Plaguelands. Or it would have made no difference at all, depending in whose hands fell. Dawnbringer had also told her about Father Montoy. Father Montoy, Saidan Dathrotan. Light knew how many others.

"You are not to attempt anything", Stefan put in. Sev had to shake her head to focus. Her thoughts had drifted again, but then they had been picking at each other for more than ten minutes. She used to think the dead were quiet, but even Leyran, who hadn't showed too much taste for conversation over the past two days seemed now remarcably inclined to balk at everything the others said.

"Whatever you may see or hear would do." Suddenly Stefan grinned. "Surely you would like to pay 'em in kind for the attempt they made at your life…but it's a foolishness to try it alone."

"At least on this we agree", Saryel commented bitterly. "Only fools take this kind of chances! However fools are in ample supply around here…"

"It's not too late to decide to step aside". Stefan's fists were clenched to his side and the looks he threw at the other death knight were sharp as knives, ready to cut through saronite plating. "No one would think you a coward for doing so."

_But then there's no place to hide either. _The voice in the back of her head sounded merely amused. _You can't stop death when it's coming for you. _

"I'm not stepping down", she said drawing herself up instinctively. That exact phrase she had been offered many times before, during her training years or later even, when it came to a dangerous mission. A woman was more fragile and likely to break down than a men, that was what everyone thought. After a while the Crusade had lost the subtleties but even then, she would get _that_ level look from her Commander when she insisted on a particularly risky assignment. _Let others do it and no one would blame you for being afraid. _This time it was not about being a woman though, yet the instinctive response was so much ingrained in her being that she had spoken it without hesitation.

"Fool", Saryel muttered. Stefan Vadu smiled – no, grinned. It was not a ravishing sight in that ashen and drawn face. She could picture him rubbing his hands in delight and for a certain reason that seemed to chill her inside even more.

~o~

The blade lay on Leyran's work table where he had left it. A dangerous yet beautiful thing, gleaming black saronite now covered in deep etched runes, each of them set just so in its intricate pattern.

Severinna looked down at it as if it were a rabid beast. She could not bring her fingers to merely touch the sword's hilt.

"Something more", Leyran said quietly. She gave a start when his hand closed over hers. Without gauntlet or gloves his skin felt eerily…cold. That coldness seemed to seep into her own body climbing up her arm. He tugged her hand down, almost touching the blade's razor edge.

"Once we start there's no turning back."

She swallowed the fist sized lump in her throat. Panic bubbled very close to the surface now. It took effort to keep a smooth expression and she was sure at least some of it showed. Leyran's scowl never altered as he watched her. Even death, Sev thought vryly, had to bear a more cheerful expression than he did.

She chuckled at her own poor joke and was horrified to hear the sound coming from her throat. Leyran arched an eyebrow questioningly, the grip on her hand tensing. If she were breaking already, before they had even begun…

"I'm sorry", Sev nearly stammered. Light but she wanted to laugh her brains out. "Just an amusing thought, really." She grew quiet, sucking in a deep breath. "I **am** ready."

"It is said about weapons such as this that they can suck a person's soul. Feed on their emotions, their thoughts, their feelings… You will have to control yourself as well as you can if you are to keep it from overwhelming you too quickly." It was his turn to pause as for a sharp intake of air, although in his case it was a reflex not a necessity. "And such a blade is never complete until it can drink in your very life force…"

Suddenly he pressed her hand down until Sev felt the sharpness of the sword's edge under her palm. Her throat constricted to the point she thought she would suffocate. The death knight's fingers dug into hers and she felt the first warm trickle of blood on her skin…

"Just as the blade rends flesh, so must power scar the spirit", he said in that unnerving soft voice. It had the sound of a verse recited by rote. Her mind fought to grasp meaning, and then all she could do was stare into his face, eyes widening at the sudden rush of sensations that seemed to shot through her arm. She was sucked into a whirlpool and there was no escaping it. Each heartbeat became a thunder rattling in her brain. The surge of ecstasy could match that of being wrapped in the Light, and beneath it lay numbing pain. She could not _feel _- only the drumming of her heart, the wheezing of her own breath like that of a dying man. She knew her mouth was ajar, her jaw working yet no sound came out. At the edge of her consciousness she knew that if she could speak, she would have been screaming…


End file.
